I have a head cold and Nancy isn't around today. That means you have to listen to me whine.

When the symptoms started on Sunday I thought it was one of those really minor sniffles that would fade away in a day or so. That's because I rarely ever get colds and didn't remember that there are no such things as "really minor sniffles" and that all the colds I get evolve into those huge, sloppy, runny, sneezy, snotty messes that force you to whine.

The good news is that the sore throat has faded. But you're not getting off that easy. My nose has reached runny perfection - that state where the temperature of the runny stuff exactly matches the temperature of your upper lip so that you can't tell that anything is emerging until the first drip splatters on your (choose one): (a) hand [I should be so lucky]; (b) library book; (c) tea mug; or (d) cat.

I'm trying to be a good spouse about this. I made Nancy go out and buy a pump bottle of Purell. I goop it up every time I blow my nose (or just rub it with the back of my hand). I smell like my grandmother's house. I've wiped down the mouse on the kitchen laptop so many times that it turned and snapped at me this morning.

The cats sense my pain but have started to avoid me because whenever they get close I whine to them in my new, Barry White /chest cold baritone. It scares them. I was hoping that Nancy would find it sexy, but even though I can now do a really fine, "Ooh...ooh...ooh...ooh...ooh...ooh...ooh...ooh...ooh... We better try, Try to get ourselves together, baby..." she just shakes her head and leaves the room.

Ususally I end these peices by saying something like, "There, I feel better now". But I don't. So I won't.

For your sake, I hope I'm feeling better tomorrow.


Well, on the bright side, you don't have to go to work any time soon, so at least you don't have to hobble around pretending that you feel good.

Too bad I can't take a day off-- I'd bring you a coloring book and some crayons. And maybe a Sorbee lollypop, if you're good.

Listen, Trancho. I really do feel for you but that was the most pathetic piece of writing I've read in years. So shallow. So lacking in wit. You were in honor's English but I'm beginning to think a mistake was made somewhere along the road. Get a grip, and stop acting like you've got the grip. Also, be more respectful of your grandmother. Love, David.

But I have a collllld... and my sinuses huuuurt... and my head aaaaches...

and my grandmother invented Purell - rubbing alcohol and irish whiskey.

I hate to say it, but Metsch is actually right. All this whining is pathetic, Bob. This story was actually very dull. I much prefered the one about when that kid stole your camera. Now, THAT was a real tragedy!

Your Pal, Marty

Of course! that's why they call it whining... You've never heard of noble whining, or majestic whining. or statesmanlike whining - it's all pathetic. It just so happens that I was in truly pathetic shape last week - totally justified, completely deserved, almost archetypal - Yes! perhaps even heroic!

Get a grip! It's more information then I wanted to know. I know people who had to work in the same condition. I agree-- not your best writing. You'll get no sympathy here.


That Susan woman makes a lot of sense. You should listen to her.

Your pal,


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