"Sheesh," my husband said, as he looked inside the potato chip bag.
And that's when I felt my left eye begin to water furiously, inexplicably.
"Sheesh what?" I asked, dabbing at it with a paper towel.
"Sheesh is a Maya word. It's what's left when you take something away." He turned the bag so I could see that there were only little flakes, crumbs of chips, but no actual chips.
"How do you spell it?" Now my nose began to run. I pressed a hand to my left sinus.
"Like Roman numeral nineteen."
"Uh-huh." He crumpled up the bag, put it xix and all in the trashcan. "Are you OK?"
"I think I'm coming down with something."
By the time I went to bed, my head throbbed, my muscles ached, and the fever had started. I slept fitfully at best and woke up with the addition of a raw throat, a swollen neck.
I'll be back when I no longer feel like xix.