|The warnings were there|
Take me, for example. I have been sick since Wednesday… last Wednesday for crying out loud. I’ve taken a sick day from work, spent virtually an entire weekend in my pajamas, have been in bed by 8:30 most nights, drugged myself with NyQuill, Tylenol Cold, Afrin, and Ibuprofen. I’m drinking plenty of fluids. I haven’t blogged in a week. (Yet despite my weakened condition, I’ve managed to fire off this little ditty for you. You’re welcome.) I haven’t worked out or run in almost two weeks. I had to call out sick on a day I had a job interview for Godsakes. What the hell is wrong with me?
|This is me, sick and angry, making my family a |
delicious frittata while they lounge on the couch
I must say, Mucinex has been a Godsend. It has even inspired a new term for my Man Cold vocabulary: “Gary Mucey.” That’s who I sound like when I try to speak before the Mucinex has kicked in:
|An amusing side effect.|
Unlike what I get with the tea.
|My therapy puppy|
We need more women like Peanut in this world. Women who will see that men are not overreacting when we’re sick. We really feel this badly. And don’t give me this nonsense about how men are such babies when they're sick, proving they could never handle childbirth if they had to. You ladies get an epidural. What do we get? Over-the-counter drugs that simply treat the symptoms, not the debilitating virus that fuels them.
Well, it’s time. Time to move toward a viable treatment. A vaccine. A cure. Are we being babies? Maybe. But keep this up, and there won’t be any babies anymore.
Cure Man Cold. Our future depends on it. Until then, I'm gonna take another nap.