It’s been a long, phlegmy week here at Casa Twistie. We’ve all been down with the creeping cruds (all except the cat, damn him for being healthy and wanting to play when I would cheerfully give all I own for one night of sleep sans congestion). And so it is that I’ve been remembering my father’s sage advice for colds: take six water glasses of gin, and you’ll feel better in the morning.
I’ve suspected all along (no, I have not actually tried this advice) that it doesn’t quite work that way. It seems to me that alcohol poisoning probably doesn’t feel better than the average cold. Besides, I never saw him try it, which was a dead giveaway to me.
Still, it’s been six days and I’m still blowing in the Kleenex to a fearful extent. I’ve downed more licorice tea than I can shake a stick at, I’ve drunk obscene amounts of orange juice, and I’ve had so much chicken soup that the local poultry farms are beginning to speak of me in hushed tones to bad little eggs to make them behave.
If anyone out there has a good idea that doesn’t include scary amounts of booze, I’d be forever in their debt.
Red, chapped noses are not superfantastic.