The dreaded “Man Cold” has been crippling the male species since time began. The Bible doesn’t go into detail, but I’m convinced that Adam agreed to eat the apple because his judgment was clouded by a “man cold.”
I read the following article on MSN that describes the man cold and gives women some tips on how to treat it.
This “debilitating disease” can be “near fatal,” says the Urban Dictionary. It’s specific to the male species and demands fast attention.
The symptoms are horrible: coughing, sneezing, sore throat, low energy and the telltale man-whine. What’s a girl to do? Yes, it’s up to the opposite sex to save their men from their colds. Let’s go through the drill:
Do not put him in bed. Instead, let him recoup here.
Turn on the TV - fast. Find some sports or cartoons and give him the remote control.
He’ll be too weak to call for you, so make sure to check in on him every three minutes. A little bell is also helpful.
He’ll need an endless supply of tissues, fast food, cookies and lots of tea.
Once he shows signs of improvement (by asking you what you’re doing every 10 minutes), he’s ready for movie therapy. Star Wars, James Bond, or sports related movies work well during this next step in the man cold treatment plan. Note: No matter how much he begs, do not let him watch “Brian’s Song.” In his weakened state, the emotional drain will be too much for him.
If a week has gone by and there’s no improvement, bring out the big guns: have a chick flick marathon consisting of Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, Steel Magnolias, and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and if he’s not in the shower after that, tell him you can’t remember if you feed a cold, starve a fever or the reverse, so you’d better ask your mother to come over.
He’ll be back on his feet before you can say, “Do these pants make my butt look big?”
My friend, Teendoc, who blogs at Welcome to the Dollhouse, first diagnosed my man cold a few weeks ago when I was pleading for sympathy on Twitter. My ailing fingers could barely type out the message, but I needed the world to know how miserable I was. Teendoc responded with a link to this video. After I watched it I thought, “Finally, a doctor who understands my misery.” I showed the video to my wife so she could have a better understanding of what I was going through. She went into a tirade about how mothers don’t have the luxury of having a “man cold” because they have to blah, blah, blah. I pulled my blanket over my head because I was way too sick to comprehend her rambling (BTW, this was a bad move).
A week later, I contracted a stomach virus. Instead of displaying sympathy, my daughter looked at my wife and said, “Oh, no. Looks like dad has another man cold. I guess he’ll be in bed all day, again.”
Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad
Question: Who handles illnesses better, men or women?
After watching the Dark Knight (best Batman movie ever), I felt compelled to Google Morgan Freeman. When the results came up, I was pleasantly surprised to see some videos of his character, “Easy Reader” from “The Electric Company.” For those of you too young to remember “The Electric Company,” it was an educational television show on PBS. I thought of it as an edgier version of Sesame Street.
I couldn’t wait to see “The Electric Company” each day after school. The Easy Reader and Spider-Man segments were always my favorites. I loved Spider-Man because I am a comic book geek. Easy reader appealed to me because he reminded me of myself - a black male who loved words and reading. His soul brother persona was a bit over the top, but I didn’t mind at the time. It was the seventies after all.
So check out Easy Reader struttin’ his stuff. “Easy Reader, that’s his name, umm umm-umm! Readin’ Readin’, that’s his game, umm, umm-umm!”
As I mentioned in the previous post, we celebrated X’s birthday with cupcakes. Well, the next day, we decided to have the rest of the cupcakes for desert. My daughter, Nee, got a cupcake out of the container, but dropped it on the floor on the way to the table. I told her to throw it away and get another (the 5-second rule is a myth according to Food Detectives).
When everyone was served and finished eating their cupcake, we proceeded into the living room where I placed X on the floor and myself on the couch. X loves to walk into the kitchen and push the trash can around the island. As expected, he latched on to the can and began his trek around the kitchen. Let me state for the record that I do not condone this activity, but sometimes it’s easier to allow him to do it than it is to get up off the couch.
After one loop, he usually makes his way into the living room, but this time he did not. In fact, he stopped pushing the can and got quiet. Parents know that bad things are happening when children are too quiet. As I prepared to investigate, I heard Nee yell, “No, X!” When I arrived in the kitchen, Nee was wrestling her discarded cupcake out of X’s hand. This task proved to be more difficult than Nee realized. X would not be denied and tightened his grip on the tasty treat. He was able to stuff a few more sweet morsels into his frosting covered mouth before his sister could overpower him and retrieve the cupcake.
X let out an ear-piercing cry and made one last attempt at the cupcake. I swooped in and carried him to the bathroom where I could clean his face, hands, hair, clothes and feet. It was important that I removed all evidence of “The Cupcake Incident” before my wife returned home from swimming lessons. I felt like Jules and Vincent from Pulp Fiction and really need The Wolf’s assistance.
The problem I had was Nee. I knew that she would not be a complicit accomplice. Telling her something is like pouring water in a sieve. But it was late and I figured that she would be too tired to tell her mommy about what happened.
Boy was I wrong!
K could hardly get inside the door before Nee gave me up. I tried to keep her quiet, but this time she was the one who would not be denied.
“X ate a cupcake out of the garbage,” she said with a smirk on her face.
“He did what?” K asked as she shot me a look.
“You know how he is about cupcakes,” I replied. “He didn’t want it to go to waste.” K just shook her head and smiled. Maybe I didn’t need The Wolf after all.
Like many men, I am colorblind. Therefore, I’m always asking my wife and my daughter the color of things. Tonight, as I was separating the laundry, I asked my daughter if an item of clothing was white. “It’s pink, Daddy,” she replied with exasperation, “You should really learn your colors.” I guess it’s time to pull out my crayons.
Pickles are the real harbingers of financial doom. My in-laws discovered this shocking fact as they attempted to have lunch at my house.
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