What ‘Cha Going to Do When They Come For You?

sick Randy

Summer is over and it’s not the layers of rain pouring over us telling me so. No, it’s Man-Wonder turning into his annual glompy ball of feverous cold-spewing germs.

Listen, he’s a nice man. Until he gets sick. Then he doesn’t merely have a cold—no, he has torturous chills, raging fevers, lung-bursting coughs and gunk-filled sinuses ready to explode should he breathe too often.

Don’t believe me? Ask him. He’ll tell you just how close he is to death’s trapdoor.

All day long as I tiptoe past the closed bedroom door ( yes, I am guilty of shutting it tight), I hear pitiful moans like “Kill me now and put me out of my misery” (Lord, there are moments!), or “OMG, how much mucus can a living human hold?” (Yeah, that one makes me want to never, ever enter that room again). Or when I ask if there’s anything I can get for him, I get a limp hand wave and a pathetic “No, no, you’ve done so much already. I’m fine just laying here”—which really means ‘Come baby me until I’m all better ‘kay.”

I mean really, is it a man thing or is he just super-weinie when it comes to colds?

And that’s pretty much what my week has been like—Man-wonder snuffling like a demented dog behind a closed door while Mom shuffles back and forth between the living room and her bedroom because each time she gets arrives in a room she can’t remember why she’s there or what she wanted to ask me. At least she’s getting exercise – right?

And I have learned where I get my potty mouth from when frustrated . . .thanks Mom!

But the one thing I am truly thankful for? The six-foot by three-foot mirror leaning against a wall in the kitchen because it gives me a quiet place to stand and try to convince myself that the look on my face is a smile.

They say if you fake it you will eventually make it.

I’m working on it.

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