It would seem that I’m coming down the sinus/cold gunk that every other living person (and probably some zombies too) within 20 miles of me has had in one form or another over the course of the past two weeks. The kids all had it, the Puddinette has it now, along with the gravelly voice usually reserved for Thelma, the chain-smoking, non-nonsense, grandmotherly waitress at that diner in between No-Freaking-Place, Illinois, and Why’s-That-Buzzard-Eyeing-Me, New Mexico.
So I’m pounding zinc, have already begun the sudafed regimen (no, Mr. Pharm Tech, I swear, I’m not making meth, no matter how many people are into that show), and am slurping down OJ like I just got a bad crop report and expect Duke and Duke to corner the market come Monday morning. When it comes to this sort of thing, I believe in striking early and often, and doing everything in my power to beat those damned, dirty apes—er, germs—back as quickly as is humanly possible.
Because, let’s face it: nobody likes being sick. Even if its just a "head thing", meaning no aches, fever, chills, or lethargy (well, besides the ordinary laziness, that is), it’s still a major pain in the backside. With the sore throat from the drainage, a nose that flows faster than the taps on Monday night during football season, and the inevitable stuffiness that makes us all feel like we’re breathing, talking, and eating through gauze, it just plain sucks.
Oh, and then there’s that feeling like everyone is looking at you and your runny, drippy nose and your smelly cat voice in disgust.
No one really ever is, of course. Well, except for that one guy who rolls his eyes and pretends he’s better than that. But no one likes him anyway. His six cats only put up with him because he buys them the good catnip. Everyone knows better, because they’ve had colds too; they know it sucks and you can’t do anything about it.
Still, probably ought to make sure you don’t offer to shake hands right after blowing the old shnoz.
As bad as all of it, though, I’ve recently come to find out that it gets worse. Working in an office populated with more women than men, I’ve learned of something known as the Man Cold. Apparently, it’s quite common for male members of our species to become, well, out-right babies at the first hint of a little congestion. There’s whining, crying, begging for soups and pity, and basic, all around, worthlessness.
Worried that I was, myself, prone to this foolishness, I was quick to check with the Puddinette. She allayed my fears by admitting I don’t typically exhibit Man Cold behaviors. I had her sign an affidavit which I laminated and now carry proudly in my wallet.
Sure, I’m a nerd. But at least I’m not a whiner.
But, fellas, really? Dudes that would otherwise, in the peak of health, make idiots of themselves with contests of bravado such as, who can throw the heaviest rock or who can build the sweetest workbench using only hand tools and spit are apparently utterly waylaid by a little chest phlegm.
This. Is. Ridiculous.
Something has to be done about this problem. The fact of the matter is, regardless of the common Macho Male Perception that leads guys to pick fist fights at bars over who saw the pretty girl first (the same pretty girl that usually leaves before the fight is over), we’re really already not doing ourselves any favors in the toughness department. Because every guys who has ever had a mother, partner, or spouse has at some point or another spent 10 minutes complaining about how much hangnails are just the worst thing ever. In contrast, members of the fairer sex regularly find a way to push something the size of a watermelon out a hole made for a golf ball.
No wonder we get no respect.
Gentlemen, I’m officially calling for the end of the Man Cold. To that end, I proudly offer you Puddin’s Prescription. The next time you get that sore throat or start using tissues faster than middle-aged people watching Up for the first time, follow these simple steps every four hours:
- Drink 8 ozs of orange juice
- Follow the OJ with 1 oz of your well liquor of choice* (I recommend bourbon, but it’s your call)
- Do NOT mix steps 1 and 2. It’s not Happy Hour. The object is to loosen stuff up, so take it straight, like a Man.
- Reply “I’m fine” whenever anyone asks if you’re feeling okay
- Go to work; yer quit whining
I also recommend a prodigious application of Imperial IPAs. A whack of hops’ll clear up the sinuses right quick.
So, are you a carrier of the dreaded Man Cold? Do you own a car with 450 horses but can’t get your own beverage when your nose is full? And for those long-suffering better halves, is your significant other less use than a third nipple when a common cold comes home? Tell us your story. And let’s all stand together to put the Man Cold away, once and for all.
Together, we can make the world a less whiny, pathetic place.
*This may not actually be necessary. Also, your spouse, employer, and/or law enforcement may frown upon this.