My husband has a cold. That noise you just heard was the collective groan of wives all over the world. That’s right, it’s the dreaded Man Cold.
In my husband’s defense, he rarely gets sick. He doesn’t have the combined history of asthma, pneumonia, meningitis and sinus infections like I do. And, people, I’m just scratching the surface of my ailments. Truly.
He isn’t used to the headache, cough and all-around nastiness he feels…and I’m not used to being around it. Especially the part about how he can’t breathe through his nose which means he snores like there are real-live lumberjacks sawing logs right next to me. And, my husband just grew a full beard, so if he puts on a plaid shirt I might just mistake him for one.
He has been kind enough to sleep on the couch for the last two nights, which leaves me free to take an Ambien and fold my adjustable bed into the shape of a taco and sleep like a baby. That part is kind of awesome. My husband doesn’t even like it when the bed has a slight roll (or, what he refers to as its golf-green shape). He likes the mattress to be flat. BOOOR-ING!
But, although I have plopped myself onto the middle of the mattress, kept the light on my side-table shining so that I can read magazines or paint my nails, listened to the TV without having to cup my hand behind my ear, and have sat in a half-taco while I type this blog post, I still hope he feels better soon.
Because that man-cold is a brutal beast. Just ask all of the wives who groaned.