Posts Tagged ‘Handsome Manling’
Nurse Sinus Sister
The unthinkable has happened. Handsome Manling is sneezing and wheezing. Usually, I’m the sickie. Now he has to admit infallibility and stop bragging about his immune system.
Since the Surgeon General is busy, he’s stuck with me. First, I make the mistake of questioning his self-diagnosis. “Are you sure it’s a cold?”, I ask, half-hoping he has developed a mild seasonal allergy, so we can commiserate (I know, that’s terrible. I regret it while typing the words).
“YESSS, I have a cold,” he thunders, but it sounds like yezzz. Pressing my hand to his (possibly germ ridden) forehead, he asks, “Do I feel hot to you?” Hmm. It’s hard to tell. Is that the only metric? All this makes me wonder: how do civilians like ourselves, who don’t have time to watch Dr. Oz, distinguish between allergies and the common cold? To help us with that questions, The Mayo Clinic made up this handy chart:
|Symptom checker: Is it a cold or allergy?|
|General aches and pains||Sometimes||Never|
What does it mean? Allergy sufferers with a fever, aches and pain actually have a cold. So, save your Reactine and reach for the aspirin. As for Handsome Manling, he’s spending the day in bed, pretending not to watch Ellen.
Sinus Sister flees the City
Hightailing it out of town seemed like the perfect way to escape urban ragweed. Little did Sinus Sister know that the countryside has its own villain—a yellow menace called goldenrod. There are fields and fields of goldenrod circling Montreal. With the car windows rolled up and the air vents shut, I held my breath until arriving at the Fairmont Chateau Montebello for a mini-break. Exhale. Ahhhh. No ragweed on these pristine grounds and no goldenrod in sight.
The Château is made of 10,000 red cedars logs. Thankfully, it looks rustic without actually being rustic, so the bathroom didn’t send me into a girly meltdown. The Montebello was perfection, with well-groomed tennis courts, running trails and swimming pools. All that outdoor activity put Sinus Sister in the mood for her Handsome Manling. Making their way onto the king-sized bed, she suddenly reached for a tissue. ACHOO! Oh no! Feather pillows—my kryptonite. Many a dirty romp has been spoiled by fluffy down filling. Nothing kills the mood more than serial sneezing, while pointing at a duvet like it’s a murder weapon. Plus, it’s really hard to hold in your stomach while sneezing, wearing a negligee and high heels.
Housekeeping must’ve taken rapid-response training, because a bellhop named Charles knocked on the door only four minutes after our call to reception. He held foam pillows, looking sheepish, like it was somehow his fault. I was the one who neglected to ask about the bedding. Excited to escape the ragweed, I forgot about indoor enemies.
“Oh, we have an entire wing of rooms without feather bedding,” said Charles, tactfully ignoring any X-rated products that may or may not have been on the bed-side table. But Handsome Manling was done with the chit-chat. He grabbed the pillows, gave Charles a twoonie and shut the door. He dodged my last sneeze, then handed me a high heel.