You poor baby!
Posted by Warner Lewis on Jan 16th, 2007
“I’m sooo sick.” “I can’t breathe.” “Ohhhh, my head is going to explode.” “Seriously, you don’t understand, this cold is really bad.”
There, I think I feel better already. Let’s face it, even the bravest and stout-hearted of men recoil and act infantile when it comes to the common cold. If Napoleon hadn’t been fighting a runny nose, who knows how the course of history might have changed. I readily admit I am no exception. When the very first sign of a scratchy throat appears, I brace myself for what is sure to be the ultimate death of me. I clear my calendar, review my will and begin a frantic search for Contac in the medicine cabinet. And then I wait anxiously for my fate to befall me. Sure enough, within a matter of hours, a tsunami of symptoms hits me full force, engulfing my entire being. Watery eyes, stopped up nose, coughing, sneezing and the list goes on and on. And come hell or high water, absolutely no one is going to deny me my Constitutional right to complain mightily.
Like all men, when I have a cold, I’m thoroughly convinced that I and I alone, am the only one on the planet that is sick. Sadly, after all these years I still can’t (or don’t want to) remember, is it "Starve a cold, feed a fever?" Or "Starve a fever, feed a cold?" Feeding both usually sounds best to me, but each are of little consequence. Even sustenance can’t fight off this evil illness. My cold (not your cold, only mine) rages like a forest fire out of control. I am totally debilitated, with little or no hope of recovery.
Falsely assuming my home was my castle, I beg for sympathy from family members but am summarily dismissed as a raving lunatic. “Mom, dad’s acting like a baby again ‘cause he has a cold.” I hear their sinister laughs making fun of me down the hall. Little do they know the dark misery from which I suffer. Even my loyal dog Andy, who ferociously wards off FedEx delivery people, Girl Scout cookie sellers and other home invaders to protect me, ultimately tires of my whining and walks away.
Employing another strategy to escape this evil, I try to watch TV. But all I can think about is how absolutely healthy everyone looks on every channel. Jay Leno looks fine to me. So does Al Michael. And no-way the actors in the Alka-Seltzer cold capsule commercial are sick. The fakers!! Even the patient undergoing emergency heart surgery on the Medical Channel looks fit as a fiddle compared to me.
Nowhere, but nowhere, do I find solace. Not from family, not from friends, not even from my faithful canine. That being the case, I certainly don’t expect any from you, the reader.
It’s ok. After all these years I’m used to it. My pleas for understanding and sympathy have gone unanswered by so many for so long. As I write this, I can even sense your disgust with me and my plight as well. Go ahead, be like the rest of them and put your head in the sand. Stop reading about my heroic battle against the common cold. Read some trashy love story or historical novel instead. Read anything else so you don’t have to face or deal with my pain. I’ll understand and just go on suffering alone. Death, where is thy sting?
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Choooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
at 2:31 p.m.
At least you're willing to TAKE Contac. My "other" is too stoic to take even a couple of aspirin. Always wants to tough it out. He might be surprised what acting like a big baby might bring out in me. I might get in touch with my maternal side...
at 9:28 a.m.
Ah, men and their constant craving for attention.