My Man-Cold
I have a man-cold. Initially, I had allergies. They morphed into a cold. I refused to admit it. Once I acknowledged it was indeed a cold, I did what every man does. I insisted I was dying. No one has ever - in the history of colds - had a cold this bad. It’s awful. The stuffed up nose, the coughing, the foggy head, not to mention I haven’t really had a voice for almost a week.
Helpful Hint: Do not go to the PTA meeting at which they will elect next year’s officers when you have no voice. You may end up Vice-President. (I kid. I kid. I would have done it anyway.)
The most important tenet of the man-cold is the refusal to see a doctor. At first, it makes sense. It’s probably viral and needs to run its course. As the cough sets in and impacts the ability to sleep, serious cough syrup would probably be a good idea. But this is a man-cold. No doctors.
It is now late Sunday night/early Monday morning. I feel better than I’ve felt in a week. The man-cold is waning. Maybe another day or two.
Until next year, man-cold, you heartless bastard.