Curse Of The Dreaded Man Flu
I have a cold and I hate colds: I think I’d rather suffer Face lift surgery . Actually it’s a bit more than a cold: I’ve been in bed half the day for four days running, and whenever I try to walk it feels as though the house is swaying on the waves like a great ship in a storm. So I went to the doctor. My expectations were not high: I hoped she would listen to my chest, prescribe me something, all that stuff. But what I did not except was the one thing that happened. That is, as follows–
You know how it is. Whenever you go to the doctors—at least with me—you start to feel better. All the symptoms that had plagued you for days vanish, leaving you looking like a bit of a berk. And this happened to me. The second my name was called my coughing stopped and I swear I looked better.
Walking in, everything happened as it should: I sat, the nice lady doctor smiled and asked me what the problem was, and I explained. But, as I was coming to the end of my discourse, something happened that should not have. She was starting to smile, and she said “another case of man-flu then, I’m sure you’ll get over it.”
Bewildered and annoyed, I focused all my energy on looking as awful as possible, and conjuring up my symptoms. But all that came was a pathetic cough. And she said again, “I’ll give you something for the man-flu and you’ll be just fine.”
I had had enough man-flu talk, so I said, “I don’t have man-flu, actually.”
And she said, “Don’t you?”
“No I don’t,” I replied. “I have universal flu–so, can you help me or not doctor?”
She smiled again, which annoyed me further, and then I was out of there.
Read my lips if you are reading this doctor: men can get flu as bad as anyone, you know! Enough with the curse of the man-flu!