Gods help me, I think I have man flu

I felt pretty bad when I woke up this morning, but my situation quickly deteriorated once I got to work. Still, I toughed it out through the whole shift. It took a Herculean effort, but I somehow drove myself home, only to discover that my wife, Mary, hadn’t shoveled the driveway.

Fortunately, the snow wasn’t deep, and I was able to use a leaf blower to remove most of it before it froze solid. The effort drained the last of my reserves, however, so I staggered inside and collapsed on the sofa.

Drool on my pillow alerted me to a far more serious condition.
Drool on my pillow alerted me to a far more serious condition.

Soon I felt sleepy and managed to drift off, only to awake a short time later due to feeling a wet sensation on my cheek. I’d drooled onto the pillow Mary had sewn for me last summer, the one with the gaily colored Day of the Dead skulls. Apparently I’d been mouth-breathing while I slumbered, but didn’t discover the reason for that necessity until awaking.

While I slept, someone crept to my side and rammed a steel spike into my right nostril and up into my brain. I can’t explain why I didn’t wake while this was going on, I must have been deeply anesthetized, but now that I’ve come to, it feels exactly like one would expect it to feel after a steel spike — wrapped in sandpaper — has been thrust into your right nostril and up into your brain. It hurts!

Somehow I found the strength to drag myself up the stairs and into the kitchen, where I put the kettle on to boil. Somewhere in one of the cabinets was the euthanasia tea, but I doubted I’d be strong enough to find it, hidden as it likely was behind Mary’s boxes of blueberry, raspberry, acacia and the gods know what other noxious blends she has in there. How can I be expected to find things in my weakened condition?

I found the tea after digging through the cabinet for half an hour. I collapsed onto the floor, too weak from my exertions to brew it.
I finally found the euthanasia tea after digging through the cabinet for half an hour. I collapsed onto the floor, almost too weak from my exertions to brew it.

Still, I managed it, but while crawling into the living room I spilled almost half the tea I’d labored so hard to obtain.

By e-mail, my best friend said it sounds like I have man flu. I’ve never heard of that, but she knows more about medical matters than I do. Whatever it is, I can attest to the fact that it’s painful and deadly.

This could be it, dear readers. I’m going down fast. Who will take over the Roamin’ Gnomials franchise when I’m gone?


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  1. Yikes. I had to look at that photo twice to make sure it didn’t really say euthanasia tea.

    Hope you get over the flu quickly. Stay warm and keep your fluid levels up.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Man flu? Oh, dear. The end is near. Good thing you have the Day of the Dead pillow case.
    Seriously, homemade chicken soup for lunch and dinner, aspirin every four hours, lots of tea and sleep for a speedy recovery!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Jason Fredric Gilbert February 12, 2016 — 2:11 am

    No man-flu could ever stop the Roamin Gnomials! Godspeed man and feel better.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. You should find that a tot of Pusser’s rum in that euthanasia tea will do much to palliate that pitiful self-pity. And have you considered getting a flu shot? There’s an extra-strength version for old dudes now.

    Liked by 1 person

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