My Skin Hurts and My Arms Ache

Y'all, I just feel plain ol' bad.  Plain ol' feel bad?  Either way. . .

I've got a little nest here on the couch, and don't leave it any more than I have to.  Instacart has delivered ginger ale and tea and soup and bananas and ice cream and chips/crackers.  Ninety-eight percent of the time, when I have a sore throat, I want scratchy things.  (When I had my tonsils out, I made Dale stop by a Mexican place for chips and cheese dip on our way home from the hospital.)  Right now, though, ice cream is hitting the spot more than usual.