VivaCity

One of life's deepest mysteries is the male reaction to a virus. I need some scientific proof, a study, an experiment, a fricking poll, anything, that gives me some clue as to why the male body reacts the way it does when invaded by a little ol' germ.

You know the reaction I'm talking about. At the first nasal tickle, the first (gasp!) drip, he keels over. Crawls, mewling like an orphaned kitten, to the couch, where he will slump in vocal agony as THE BUG ravishes his otherwise strong-like-bull body.

THE BUG in question will be debated upon for weeks to come, long after the symptoms have hit the road, jack. He will ponder upon just who could possibly have been so angry with him as to target his particular immune system with THE BUG. Who so brutally attacked him, and why? This, folks, this must be biological warfare. I say we drop a bomb of influenza on whoever the hell it is we're fighting now and watch the menfolk drop like flies, crying like babies to their momma.

It's funny, isn't it (hiLARious), how women, especially the working mothers among us, really get no downtime. Cold? Doesn't even slow us down. Flu? Take your OTC drug cocktail of choice and keep on trucking. Polio? Meningitis? There is work to be done, woman, what is this talk of a nap?? Heresy!

As we speak, You Know Who is laying on his deathbed, quite possibly the first person in the last 85 years to die of the common cold. Pay your respects while you still can, he's down to his last moments, I'm sure.