There’s something uniquely fetish - special —- about the friend who comes to work with a full-blown head cold and treats it like a live broadcast. You’re given a complete origin story—where she caught it, how congested she is, the exact number of Kleenex boxes already sacrificed. Every sneeze is announced. Every nose blow is an event. If you make the mistake of asking how she feels, the answer is always the same: worse. Much worse. She should be in bed. With a fresh box of tissues. Yet there she is—camped at her desk, narrating the slow, dramatic decline of her sinuses all day long.
I love it!















