My wife and daughter picked a fine time to take a trip. No sooner had the plane taken off then the cold grip of death grabbed hold of your humble author. Yes, friends, ‘tis true. I caught the affliction that has doubtless claimed the lives of brave men, young and old. A sickness so deadly that poisonous creatures such as the King Cobra in India, Poison Dart Frogs in the Amazon, and politicians in the United States cower when they hear its name…The Man Cold.
As I lay on what nearly proved to be my deathbed, I can feel the icy breath of death blow it’s noxious fumes in my face in the form of a cough. Yes, I lay there making convulsive movements while trying to create what doctors term a “productive cough,” when I cough up something I can only assume is part of my pancreas.
And the fever, I am on the verge of unconsciousness and I am sweating like the head of GM during a car inspection. I took my temperature and, sadly it was as I had feared. I had a ninety-nine point five degree fever. Surely the Angel of Death is boarding her chariot to soon relieve me of my mortal coil. I begin to hallucinate and believe that I’ve seen God…and he’s quite angry. All my past transgressions of the past day (not my whole life, for I don’t have that kind of time here) flash before my eyes.
And the sneezing? I’m fairly certain that a portion of my spleen came out of my nose on the last attack. I’m starting to believe that scientists and historians got it wrong when explaining how ancient Egyptians practiced mummification on corpses. Surely all the had to do was to give a live person some sort of sneezing powder and that would take care of the removal of internal organs without the pesky practice of cutting open the body.
I know what you are thinking, ladies. “Get over it! It’s a cold. We go through childbirth for heaven’s sake!” With all due respect, I don’t believe you fully appreciate the gravity of this situation. I have a Man Cold. I have a degree of temperature that I’m sure has not been observed since the bubonic plague. These sorts of things are deadly and claim the lives of…I don’t know, but it is probably a heck of a lot of men each year. I’ve managed to log on to GetUrGrave.com and arranged a nice headstone to commemorate my time here on earth just to save my wife some time. That’s just the kind of loving husband I am, always the provider.
And so, my friends, I’d like to thank all of you in the Fire Department, Emergency Responders, Coast Guard, National Guard, Peace Corp, Army Corp of Engineers, and all those arranging the painting of “Save Alan” a la “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” on a water tower I can see from my room. I can only hope that my wife is not too horrified to find my bloated corpse upon her return. Tell my wife and daughter that I love them…Oh I can see the light.
UPDATE: 24 hours later. Didn’t die, feel better. Narrowly avoided the Banshee’s icy grip. The Man Cold has passed and I can resume my quest to…
Be Good or Be Good At It! 