Say a Prayer for the Man with a Cold

Ebola. Hepatitis. Full-Blown AIDS.


Those all suck, but pale in comparison to The Man with a Cold.


There is no Man with a Cold awareness month. People wear no ribbons. There is no research fund to end Man with a Cold syndrome.


Laid up on the couch with a fever clocking in at 100.9, mucus filled tissues piled on the floor, a bottle of ibuprofen and three half consumed glasses of orange juice on the side table beside him - The Man with a Cold often suffers in silence, save for some occasional groans and coughs that are just loud enough to make sure everyone else in the house can hear his agony.


Say a prayer for The Man with a Cold, for he is blessed and braves his persecution.


Women, particularly modern ones, cannot empathize with The Man with a Cold. Experts agree that people with cervixes suffer symptoms far less severe than Man with a Cold. In fact, actual scientific evidence proves that The Man with a Cold is more likely to be hospitalized and/or die than his female counterpart.


Accordingly, many Milker'd Americans genuinely, but erroneously, believe that child-birth is an acutely more traumatic experience than being The Man with a Cold. This misconception is perhaps the leading explanation as to why lactater frustration levels increase, while their sympathy levels decrease, for each day The Man with a Cold languishes under his favorite knitted blanket.



Say a prayer for The Man with a Cold, for he is the martyr who is most misunderstood.


Studies show that lunar bleeders suffer to appreciate how a Man with a Cold copes with his predicament. A wife cannot understand how The Man with a Cold can lie dormant for 10 hours, watching cartoons from 20 years ago.


A fiancé shows her true colors when she fails to get The Man with a Cold the correct type of crackers for his chicken soup. You know the ones . . . the smaller octagon shaped crackers that mom bought special for The Boy with a Cold.


A girlfriend cannot comprehend why The Man with a Cold hasn't changed out of his sweats for three days and why suggesting that he do so that is the dumbest fucking thing anyone could ever ask - but do not judge her, for she is no man and knows not of his suffering.



Say a prayer for The Man with a Cold, for his desperation breeds ingenuity.


The Man with a Cold remains no less of a Man with a Plan. This is why The Man with a Cold resorts to his own unique, tried and true remedies.


A stuffy nose isn't going to resolve itself, which is why the heating pad - usually reserved for The Man who Pulled His Back Playing Beer League Hockey - has been cranked up to high and been deployed as a face mask.


Ginger-ale, often isolated to occasional complementary beverage status on airplanes, now takes front and center as an elixir to tame an upset tummy.


Why does The Man with a Cold lay upside down with Q-tips shoved up his nose? None of your damn business, that's why.



Say a prayer for the Man with a Cold, for while his ailment may be temporary, his forgiveness in unequivocal.


After four or five days, The Man with a Cold re-emerges, rebirthed like a phoenix back onto the systemic biases that had mocked and abandoned him in his time of need.


Fear not, for The Man Who Had a Cold holds no grudges and certainly harbors no lasting resentment for those who told him to "grow a pair", to "man up", "stop acting like a fucking baby" and "get back to work".


For while it would be easy to store these cutting wounds and redeploy them when convenient - that is what women do. Rather, The Man Who Had a Cold can cleverly claim lingering wrist weakness the next time a pickle jar needs opening or answer honestly when called upon to offer a ruling on outfit to ass fatness ratio.


Say a prayer for The Man with a Cold, for he is still only human.

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