Last Monday Pablo sent me a link of the "Man Cold" video, which apparently was a recent Internet meme du jour. Pablo, who had been under the weather recently, explained the video by saying, "It basically makes fun of how men with a cold are a disaster versus women with a cold who are just fine."
This offended me.
The notion that men, a set of people that by most definitions includes me, transform into blubbering whining babies when confronted with the mere common cold, seemed not only offensive but patently false. Ignoring the troubling issue of Pablo's emerging misandry and/or self-hatred, I decided to educate him about how I handle a cold.
"I'll tell you, it's the opposite of that video in my house. When I'm not feeling well, I just suffer though it and grind through all my chores," I explained. I didn't go into detail about how sometimes my wife doesn't even know I'm under the weather because I just endure it in silence. I didn't bother highlighting the fact that the phrase "Man up!" starts with "man".
I patted myself on the damn back and went on with my day.
24 hours later I started to feel ill.
24 hours after that, I had a little fever going.
24 hours after that I was rolling around on the floor of my house moaning and whimpering about how achy I felt. I didn't do the dishes. I didn't help take care of the kid. Instead I shuffled from bed to chair to couch to bed, trying to find something or somewhere that eased the pain of being. At each step along the way I sighed loudly.
So, this is what? Karma? Irony? A belated but touching coming-of-age tale where a 41 year-old finally becomes a man?
All better now though.