Why I can't come home for dinner

I am sick. I have been sick since I came home from Ethiopia, and it's getting really, really old. Last night I had to cancel dinner with my friends Nicole and Keith and their cute baby Lilabear because my internal organs were too busy liquifying. Then, after twelve hours of thrashing around my bed and running to the bathroom, I had to call my parents to cancel our dinner this evening.

Me: Mom, Dad, I don't think I can come home for dinner tonight.
Dad: What? Why?
Me: I'm sick.
Dad: Did you take an aspirin?
Me: Dad, I'm not that kind of sick.
Mom: Are you drinking enough water?
Me: (Frustrated) Mom, I know you think that all ailments are caused by dehydration, but I'm afraid liquids are not going to help me.
Mom: Well, what's wrong?
Me: For starters, I have a bad headache.
Dad: ASPIRIN!
Me: And I feel a bit dizzy and spaced out. Like a zombie.
Mom: Maybe you're over-tired. (Another of my mother's common diagnoses.)
Me: And I think my internal organs are liquifying.
Mom: What?! What do you mean?
Me: Well, I'm just telling you that I'm starting to ooze bodily fluids through my pores.
Dad: That sounds rather unappealing.
Me: And highly contagious.
Mom: Really, what do you think you have?
Me: Ebola.
Mom: You mean...what?
Me: I'm like a walking public health disaster. So unless you guys have astronaut suits, I don't think I can come over.
Dad: So should we lay in some Gatorade and chicken noodle soup?
Me: Dad, I'm a time bomb waiting to go off! I can't possible navigate the subways in this state. Think of all the people I'll expose. It's downright irresponsible.
Mom: Just take a cab. We'll pay for it.
Me: Oh (brightening). Okay.

In the meantime, I'll be on my couch feeling sorry for myself. With only my Ebola cuddle toy to keep me company, I'll feel very sorry indeed.