A Case of The Man Cold

For the past several weeks, I’ve been sick. My throat has been sore. My nose has been stuffy. My sinuses have been achy and I’ve been coughing up green crap incessantly (sorry for the visual.) It’s no doubt that with an ear and strep infected son who insists on permanently residing up in my face that I would get sick. I finally went on antibiotics for a sinus infection last week and have slowly been on the mend. Unfortunately, just in time for my husband to get sick.

Now, I love my husband. I truly believe we are soulmates, my life wouldn’t be complete without him, he is the love of my life and all that crap, but when he’s sick? I have visions of stabbing him repeatedly with sharp kitchen utensils and making a run for it with our children.

What? He gives me no choice.

You would have thought he was dying yesterday. In fact, fifty years from now (God willing,) when he is on his death bed, I imagine his face looking remarkably similar to the way it did for much of the weekend.

I’m sick, he proclaimed pathetically. Barely mustering up the energy to get out of bed, he drove to the Minute Clinic to get a dose of antibiotics and a bucket of sympathy. An hour later he called sounding defeated. Did they give you something, I asked. No, he whimpered. The strep test was negative and she said it couldn’t be a sinus infection if it just started.

It’s a cold.

(A man-cold.)

Someone, save me. We may not survive this week. Either one of us.