Parting Shot: If you're too weak to read this, you're probably ill

All three struck one Wednesday night.

I came home from work feeling like a worn-out rag and decided to take a nap. When I got up an hour later, my head hurt, my hands and feet were cold and my stomach ached.

Rather than gut it out (and watch “Modern Family”), I went to bed and decided I’d reassess in the morning.

After three “awakenings” during the night, I decided to get up at 6 and do away with the beard I started in November. I shaved half of it and felt I needed to go back to bed. It was, um, a look.

After sending emails to those who’d be wondering where I was, I slept for six hours, woke with a terrible stomach ache and got to know my good friend, the bathroom.

I went back to sleep, got up at 3 p.m. and finished shaving the beard. (Weary Willie was gone.) I drank a Coke (a sign that I was turning a corner), ate a piece of toast and decided I needed an afternoon nap.

I tried to do the puzzles in the paper, lost interest in Jumble and took a cursory look at Facebook.

I didn’t have energy to post anything (“The end is near!”) but I did “like” two animal photos and one cute kid. Twitter was still ranting about the election, so I left well enough alone and looked at email. Even though free shipping was no longer an enticement, there were plenty of online deals just waiting to be had.

I didn’t even look at shoes, however, so I knew I wasn’t any better.

Another nap followed and then I checked the mail, took two Ibuprofens, drank two bottles of water and sat in a chair for 15 minutes. Progress.

I moved my napping from the bed to the couch, realized it was too cold in the living room and boosted the thermostat.

One hour later, I was ready to eat a piece of cheese and prep for “Entertainment Tonight.” The show seemed different (was it a rerun?) and had the ability to make me doze off.

I got up, however, convinced I needed to fold laundry (a great sign) and check the job I did on the beard. (Yes, I missed some spots.)

While I didn’t make it through an hour-long drama (come on, who watches those when they’re sick?) I did feel well enough to look at my email and scour the kitchen for something other than cheese and bread. Finding nothing, I decided to head back to home base and sleep.

The next day? I could tell I was thinner. The minute I actually considered pulling out the scale and checking, I knew I was well.

I had another punk day, but I was energized (thanks to three bottles of Gatorade) enough to try on pants that I hadn’t been able to fit in a year.

Doctors may rely on blood tests, but give me an old pair of tight pants any day. They tell the true story.