Whenever I get a bad cold, I become the Johnny Appleseed of misery. My partner suffers maybe even more than I do...

The problem, I think, is that I am just not like John Wayne when it comes to grappling with discomfort. The Duke could take a bullet between the eyes, and still have ample time to nonchalantly finish his cigarette, feed his horse, and then give a long-winded philosophical soliloquy before expiring.

One bout of sniffles, and I'm moaning and groaning like one of those young Russian tennis stars, every time I blow my nose.

I don't ever just "have a cold" so much as I "bear the weight of the entire universe, including former planet Pluto". I don't do sick well at all.

My wife hates it as much as I do whenever I start to get a tickle in my throat, and my own eyes start to swell up like Don Knotts eyeballs, upon getting his foot run over by a FedEx van. Oh, she's gracious enough, and always there to offer sympathy and support, but I suspect she has a self-serving bottom line - getting me back to health as quickly as possible, so as to shorten the length of my whining intervals.

Whoa!! Post nasal drip on the keyboard!! Better run...

Chow for now!!