Stupid San Diego was COLD

I was in San Diego for the last couple of days. I found out about this assignment last week as I was dodging freezing rain in D.C. so needless to say, I was thrilled at the prospect of trading slushy snow for sunshine.

Upon arrival, I was dismayed to discover what locals were calling a "weather anomaly." The driest winter on record was disrupted with thunder and rain followed by cool temperatures. Ironically, New York experienced a reprieve from winter's last brisk breath effectively creating an unlikely scenario where the two cities shared the same highs and lows. Lucky me.

The trip out west was uneventful sans the visitor that took up residence... on my FACE! As I've come to expect, there were no first class upgrades available. Mercifully, sleep was not elusive and I was knocked out the whole 5.5 hour flight. Just before we landed, I woke up and felt a small bump below my bottom lip that tingled slightly. Strange, I thought, I'm past my adult acne phase. The next morning the slight bump had multiplied to FIVE! The only thing working in my favor was that I was scheduled to interview a doctor for a new FDA approval and I could hit him up for free medical advice.

While the doctor was with some PR reps going over "message points" before our interview, the woman I hired to run the teleprompter suggested we go downstairs to the dermatologist she knew. The doctor was busy but her assistant looked at my cluster of crusty bumps and said, "It's herpes." Nice. I felt like a class act. Adding insult to injury was the knowledge that I hadn't even participated in any suspect canoodling that might result in the transmission of such a virus. "Sometimes it's dormant and the virus gets triggered by stress or fatigue." Better. Further evidence that I am not a skank.

When the endocrinologist I was set to interview sat down, I quizzed him about my lip. "No, you don't need Valtrex," he said,"But I'll have my Physician's assistant take a look at it when we're done. It's a cold sore that just needs to run its course," he reassured me.

Fifteen minutes into our interview, the doctor paused and took a swig of water. Then he froze and stared at me in horror. "Was that your water?" he asked. I nodded. "I'm gonna die," he whispered and fled the room. Everyone else from my crew to the PR clients started laughing. Everyone except for me. I, too, was horrified. Then the doctor returned wiping his mouth with an alcohol swab. "That should do it," he said smiling, "I hope you didn't give me something to remember you by." That makes two of us.