That part was nothing more than quipping, mischievous antic, jesting facetiousness, wisecracking drollery, or foolish espieglerie, even.
I AM not CURED.
In fact, I may have infected others, but inexplicably, I have a sense of being on the outside looking in for the worst part of it all this year. I can't begin to account for this. Maybe recognising that my kids get it too, encouraging them and trying desparately to liven them up has actually helped me. Maybe this "fake it until you make it" rigmarole has availed me to a flourish in some mysterious way.