As I write this piece, I am losing out on a perfectly good day at work by huddling under a blanket, punctuating my keyboard prowess with periodic fits of sneezing, and otherwise being a big baby.

I have a cold.

I started to experience the early onset telltale signs on Saturday evening — a slight “tickle” in my throat, accompanied by the feeling my head had been replaced by a brick. I followed proper guy protocol by ignoring the symptoms altogether, and pretending I was rough, tough and impervious to disease. I have no idea where the idea of treating a cold with bed rest and drinking plenty of fluids came from. Ignoring it is so much easier.

It is quite possible that I could have ignored my way to a quick and complete recovery. However, on Sunday night, I chose to watch my Chicago Bears get humiliated by our arch rivals, the Green Bay Packers in a 55 to 14 butt-kicking. I am considering the possibility that the results of that game weakened my immune system to the point that I could no longer fight off the effects of this horrid disease.

As I write this, I am wrapped up, under a blanket, on the couch. The only part of this scenario that doesn’t scream “Ya big baby!” is the partially used roll of toilet paper I am using as my “facial tissue.” That roll of T.P. is my last grasp at any hope of retaining my “guy dignity.”

Women are much tougher than guys. The poorly kept secret is that we guys know this to be true. Women have endured the pain and agony of childbirth since the beginning of our existence. A lot of my male colleagues will pass out just from being in the delivery room. I think the practice of having fathers in the delivery room should come to a screeching halt. Medical personnel should be there to focus on the mom and baby and not on the dad, passed out on the floor.

We guys are wimps. When we get sick, we want the most important woman in our life to make us chicken soup, kiss us on the forehead, and tell us that we’re still her big stud-muffin – all as we snort back a stream of green slime that keeps trying to escape its sinus prison. I am now convinced that the green ooze, dripping from the schnozzle of any male afflicted with a head cold, is Superman’s green Kryptonite.

The good thing about catching a cold is that we have shelf upon shelf and aisle upon aisle of cold remedies occupying valuable retail space in nearly every store we frequent. I once read a study conducted by some group that thought their findings were important which came to the conclusion that the common cold, if left untreated, will take about two weeks to run its course. It further concluded that, if treated with over-the-counter drugs, that timeline could be as little as 14 days.

Just think — in just another dozen days, I’ll be able to put all this behind me and go back to being the stud muffin I once was.

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.