Do You Feel Sorry For Yourself?

close up of hand feeding on tree trunk
Photo by Leah Kelley on Pexels.com

Well I do.

I’ve got a stinking, sneezing, coughing cold and my husband has sent me to bed whilst muttering about ‘pestilence in the house’.

The room he complains is smelling of Olbas Oil, to which I respond, “It’s either that or I’ll not be able to breathe.” He appears to be contemplating the two options. He also keeps picking up tissues with thumb and forefinger and carrying them with an extended arm and a grimace to the bin whilst holding his breath. And when I sneeze, he asks if it’s strictly necessary.

Sympathy is not his forte. If I had the energy, I’d hit him with a shovel.

Of course the benefit to being in bed is that I can tap, tappety, tap away to you without any guilt for once, and dare I say it, I’m already feeling remarkably better. It’s either that or the fact that I’ve poured half the bottle of Olbas oil onto the bed so I can breathe and perhaps the paracetamol might be kicking in.

So I pathetically mop my fevered brow and wish that I looked like Meg Ryan with a cold in ‘You’ve Got Mail’ (a chick-flick gentlemen, so you’re forgiven if you haven’t seen it) instead of a pink-nosed snuffling, truffling little piglet. And downstairs the Colonel has the hoover going and I’m sure I can smell disinfectant, but it’s gone awfully cold. Dear God he’s opened all the windows. Oh well, the house will be clean, but let’s face it, Mother Teresa he is not … bless him!

I wonder if he’ll come to bed in a face mask … or perhaps the smell of the Olbas oil that I accidentally spilt on his side of the bed will send him shuffling off to the spare room … hmmm …

Katie x

Any cold remedies you’d like to share?

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