Rotten, stinkin' cold & rambling

yeah.

I doomed myself.

I spoke evilly about the wonders of modern medicine only to wake up feeling like my head weighed roughly 235 pounds and my ears filled with sloshing sounds as if I had suddenly put out to sea during a moment of sleepwalking.

An enemy agent caught my complacency and sent for the reinforcements that held an invasion that would have made the infantry at Normandy Beach proud. . . except for the niggling little fact that the ENEMY took the beachhead, or in this case, MY head.

What is it about having a cold that makes everything seem just a bit too shrill? Sounds are more piercing and everything is just on the edge of annoying. And all of that is before we get to the real annoyances of daily living that make me wonder what was so great about leaving the hunter-gatherer time of our existence where NO ONE was concerned about having a shirt pressed before leaving for work!

Cave men, as it turns out, didn't think about pressing their mastodon skins for a night out with the missus. Fast facts garnered in the Smithsonian also indicate that they didn't really consider bathing and grooming essentials either.

Now, while I am perfectly willing to abandon ALL ironing for the good of all mankind, I TOTALLY draw the line on the bathing and grooming gig. After spending a great deal of time trying to encourage a child that a bath was a GOOD idea if they planned on living inside the house and seeing that battle become aimed in a different direction as he grew older (namely the 'get OUT of the bathroom now because OTHER PEOPLE NEED HOT WATER, TOO!' skirmish), I cannot begin to imagine just how funky fresh the cave was after a cold spell in the primitive winter of their discontent.

My father sagely pointed out that when everyone in your circle of friends smells like woodsmoke and cream of chipped antelope, no one really notices if you are a bit tangy. At that point I had to excuse myself and gag in another room, but the point was certainly made.

I have to wonder who the bright little bulb was who decided that a spritz of something floral or fruity was better than the smell of 'Fireplace in a Cave'. Did she think to herself 'hmmm, ooh aah goobah boo bah' (which translates to mean 'this smells so much sexier than antelope haunch')?

Or did the cold and flu season finally pass and they had an epiphany of sorts when they could finally breathe again?

We may never know.

But one thing is certain. While the way to a man's heart may have a pathway through his stomach, baby had better have a little sumpin' sumpin' on the back burner when the mastodon mixed grill is all gone. While our cavemen may bathe more, dress better and certainly smell nicer than the cavemen of yore, they are still susceptible to the olfactory attention grabbing skill of a female who can use her wiles judiciously added to a spritz of something more floral than firewood.

Well, I guess that's all for the moment. My headache is settling back in and I think it's just about time for another serving of that delightful cough and cold elixir that makes me wonder just how much alcohol is in that little dosage cup. . .and why on earth it has to taste so NASTY?

Aaaaah - chooo!