Yep, I know that I’ve dealt with this subject matter already, but in light of recent events, I thought I’d broaden the topic just little further. You see, it seems that Spawn and I have the flu…again. This means that as a woman, I have already dry-walled the basement, painted the bathroom, mowed my neighbour’s lawn, and swept the pavements. Meanwhile, Spawn has watched a couple of DVDs, which have now left him feeling weak and near death.
Currently, I am coughing like a hepatitis B sufferer, whilst Spawn acts as though each cough that passes through his trachea, is not only stripping away the lining to his larynx, but also ripping a hole through the fabric of time and space itself. While every sneeze causes my head to feel as though David Beckham is playing ‘keepy uppy’ with my skull, Spawn is convinced that a life-sized neutron bomb has been implanted into the centre of his frontal cortex and is about to blow.
As for my limbs, right now it feels as though I’m being weighed down by barbells, but to listen to Spawn, you would think that he has been drop kicked, powerslammed and then held in a nelson hold, by a 250lb pro wrestler from the WWF.
Man-flu, is an often at times, debilitating illness that is characterised by many symptoms. (psychosomatic anyone?) One such symptom includes an agonizing affliction in the buttocks, although through the act of transference, it is usually the carers that experiences the highly unpleasant physical sensation as the
cry babies patients generally prove to be a right royal pain in the arse. Another manifestation of Man-flu, is the high pitched keening noise that emits from the victim’s emaciated bodies at regular intervals. This particular sound when vented, can not only cause mental despair and a loss of moral for the carer (who is often female) but can also make the ears of Dolphins bleed and cause one want to take their own life. Over the years, scientists have worked tirelessly to decipher the meaning behind the keening cries of the ill male, which are often followed by the meaningless sounds of “can I have a cup of tea/sandwich.” But they have yet to conclude whether their paycheck is worth the mental anguish that it takes to investigate such an piss awful and insignificant matter.
To date, researches have found that a teaspoon of ‘man the fuck up’ along with a healthy dose of ‘I should have killed you in your sleep,’ soon reduces the noise levels.
Other symptoms of Man-flu include:
- The loss of use in all limbs, which renders even the most menial of tasks such as lifting the remote control, futile.
- Feelings of victimization (“Oh God, why me?”)
- Blindness (“I can’t find the remote!”)
- Loss of spacial awareness and the placements of objects (“Remote, where are you?”)
- Misplaced anger (“Goddammit woman, where’s the damned remote?”)
- Visions causes by hallucinations (“Remote, is that you?”)
- Impending death…Oh how we wish.
The same as Man-flu, except that the cognitive and fine motor skills needed for DVD watching and game playing, remain unaffected.
Or as it is commonly referred to by men, ‘The Bitch Sniffles’ or a cold. Woman-flu comprises of making breakfast, tending to the other ill members of the household, otherwise known as The Weak and The Feeble, keeping the house in order, loading the washing machine/dishwasher, nipping down to the shops in order to purchase provisions for said Weak and Feeble, lamenting the fact that they were all out of rat poison, preparing lunch, regretting not adding household bleach, removing and binning tissues that contain enough germs to rival Ebola and the Black Death, (according to the male members of the household) headaches from the constant eye-rolling of listening to The Weak and The Feeble bitch about their ailments like an octogenarian bitches about their constant constipation, cooking dinner, spoon feeding The Weak and The Feeble on account of their loss of limbs usage, providing soothing beverages throughout the day…through a straw (see loss of limbs) and when all is at last peaceful and quiet, sitting down, cracking open a bottle of gin and contemplating various ways in which to murder, dismember and hide the bodies of The Weak and The Feeble.
Now if you would all excuse me, I’m feeling rather tired and need to go and lie down…that’s after I’ve made breakfast, tended to the Spawn, loaded the washing machine/dishwasher, nipped down to the shops…
Don’t blame me for such a lacklustre post. I have the sniffles.