Zoe looked at her mother. She looked...well, like she was really sick. Zoe fought with her constantly, but cared enough to be concerned. "You all right?" She asked.
Linda focused on her, her head was starting to feel as if it was stuffed with cotton. "My head hurts," she said.
"Maybe you should lie down," Zoe suggested.
Linda nodded, and moved from the kitchen into the living room, kicking off her shoes and lying back on the couch, unconcerned about the condition of her dress. She pulled a blanket that laid over the side of the couch over herself, shivering. "Zoe, can you get me some aspirin?" she said.
Zoe shrugged and went to do it. Linda, meanwhile, happened to be one of those people who was most susceptible to the disease running rampant, the opposite of her son, and had come down with the disease almost immediately, rather than an incubation period, as it did with others.
Under the blanket, her pantyhose began to reform into a giant pair of pajama bottoms...with feet no less.
Zoe returned with a cup of water and some aspirin and offered to her mother, who downed it.
"Thank you," she said, in a high-pitched and nasal voice. "Ah...ah..." She let out a giant sneeze, spraying tiny bits of infected moisture from her mouth into the air.
"Yuck..." Zoe said, trying to jump back. "Jeeze, use a tissue," she said, grabbing a box and putting it within reach. "That's disgusting."
"Sorry," Linda said in a small voice.
