Not the kind from which we run on the playground when we're eight years old, but the kind that the grown man gets at this time of year. Wives and girlfriends, you know what I mean. I just get cranky. I don't mind bringing him tea or running to the store to get tomato soup and Kleenex. I start getting annoyed after the tenth sneeze that comes out like a lion's roar, causing windows to shake and neighbors' car alarms to start honking wildly. I believe the cat's whiskers were blown from their faces with the force of the sound waves alone. Good god! I suggested to him in a less-than-sensitive tone that I doubted very seriously that he would sneeze like that in a board meeting. He looked wounded, as if I questioned the degree to which he is suffering, at deaths door. With a cold. OK, he's diabetic and his numbers run higher which makes him more tired, but sheesh - that's why he has the harpoon. It's just a cold. Not the plague, and certainly not an excuse to holler/sneeze such that the neighbor's consider the need to call 911 for the banshee that is surely being brutalized in our house.
No artwork done today. Ah well.
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