Early Thursday morning I woke up to go to the bathroom like men my age tend to have to do, and I noticed a dryness, a tickle, in the upper right back of my throat. “@#&*,” I thought. “I’m getting a cold.” By Friday, my coworkers were telling me to go home.
I spent all day yesterday on the couch watching the first season of “Reign.” King Henry has gone mad. I’m not far behind him. Despite maximum allowed doses of Mucinex, Alka-Selzter Plus, azithromycin 500 mg, and half a Lortab thrown in just for kicks, I’m producing enough snot to feed a family of four, including in-between meal snacks. I cough, sneeze, blow my nose, and spit as I marvel at the volume of it all.
I am a really bad sick person. I want a lot of attention from others but please stop asking me if I need anything. Can’t you see that I’m miserable? If you loved me you would know that the only thing I want in the whole world right now is a cold glass of orange juice. If you were sick I’d pour a glass for you and you wouldn’t have to ask.
It’s the second week in November and I thought I would be spared this year. Middle Tennessee sells the most cold and allergy medication in the United States. It has to do with our geography and the jet stream. I basically live in a big bowl where all the pollen we produce, plus everything blown in from the west, settles here and swirls around never leaving since the dawn of time, until it lands in the upper right corner of the back of my throat making me I’ll. Nothing can stop it; it is literally a force of nature.
I will survive this. I always do. Until I’m better it’s best to leave me the @#&* alone. But would you be so kind as to pour me another glass of orange juice before you leave?