Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold (6 page)

“Hmm. It’s a little weird for females to be that familiar with a man’s whiz positioning.”

“I’m a student of human nature. Sue me.”

“Well, anyhow, your hall toilet. Seriously. Seat’s jammed.” He pointed toward the bathroom again.

“Okay, out of service — seat’s down in a fixed, locked position.” She folded her arms.

“Never seen a toilet seat hinge freeze up like that. You got any WD-40?”

“It’s not frozen.” Amanda sighed heavily and paused before explaining. “It’s glued down.”

“How come? The hinge broke off?”

Although tempted to go with that serendipitous explanation, Amanda was supposed to stick with the scripted cover story. “Interestingly, Christine did some research and found that male disorientation increases dramatically — up to 65 per cent higher in your age group — when congestion flirts with the inner ear and the patient has half a degree of fever. If you got zoinked suddenly with vertigo, you’d keel over like a scared possum. Some guys spend several hours curled up on the grungy bathroom floor before anybody even discovers them.” She had embellished the script. “Plus, it affects things like balance, focus, and aim.”

“Where does Christine get all these studies? I’ve never heard of this crud.”

“You should read more.” She waggled her forefinger. “Anyway, I don’t want to put down a drop cloth just to protect my floor and walls from all that collateral splatter. Plus, it’s a health issue: your urine currently has acidic virus molecules which contaminate the bathroom’s oxygen. You breathe in that toxic mixture in such a small space and you’ll drop like a fly.”

“Hmm.” He scratched the back of his head.

Amanda scrutinized his face and could tell some brain event had just occurred. “In case you have the misguided assumption you can completely avoid hitting the seat and you intend to use that toilet while standing, I’ve got two words for you.”

Jason likely imagined two words spoken by some crude team buddies.

“Antibacterial wipes.” Amanda reached under the counter for a plastic container. “After every single incident, you’d have to wipe down the seat.” She knew no man would actually expend effort on any task related to household cleaning if there was any other option at all. In this case, the option was to urinate from a seated position. “If I find one drop on that seat, I’m getting out a noose.”

Jason possibly wondered which part of his body would be noosed.

“Understand?”

He nodded slowly. Jason clearly understood; it was checkmate. She’d placed her queen where his king couldn’t urinate properly.

“Uh, I could use the bathroom off your room…”

“Don’t you go near my bathroom!”

“Cheese Louise, all right.” He looked deeply offended. “I thought I was a pretty good shot. Lots of practice, you know.”

“Maybe so, but that was before you got so sick and all.”

“Oh, yeah—”
cough, cough
“—good point, I guess.”

This meek patient was nothing like the competitive athlete on the court or field.
Very puzzling.
“And don’t even think about peeing off my back porch into the yard!”

* * * *

Right before Jason had awakened that morning, his dream featured a sexy nurse who fluffed his pillows and served him a large plate of bacon, eggs, grits, and toast with plenty of jelly. He couldn’t get any of those images out of his mind as he shrugged himself onto a chair at the small table.

However, Jason’s complete breakfast was leftover consommé and two of the newly-arrived rice cake crackers, courtesy of Christine. “What’s this? Flat dog biscuits?”

“They’re very healthy. Think of them as cousins to regular crackers.” Amanda seemed completely unconcerned for his welfare.

“More like a redheaded step-child.” He poked both rice items as if one might try to jump away. The cracker cousin seemed to have been produced by flattening a rice cake in a bench vise and trimming the result with ragged tin snips. The box it came in would have tasted better.

Though Jason was hard pressed to think of these spare offerings as meals, this was his fifth meal observance at Amanda’s apartment since he’d gotten sick. The combined total of all five did not likely exceed three hundred calories. Had his mind been a bit sharper, perhaps Jason would have realized he’d acquired a one-way ticket out of the Culinary Zone.

Even as he groused about the stingy fare, Jason wondered which dream image he missed more: the sexy nurse or the plate of food. His stomach grumbled urgently.
Right now, the food.

* * * *

Amanda got to work early and logged on. She typed in the blog address she’d been provided and read Christine’s introduction.

.

Welcome to the only blog on the newly developed Scare-Cure! Here, you’ll learn how to treat (and cure) the dreaded and uncommon man-cold.

You’ve always thought it was inevitable and hopeless. You figured you’d have to do triple duty for a week or two while your male lounges around, naps and snacks all day, and then watches TV all night long while you’re trying to sleep.

Ladies, you’ve all been through it. Your male — whether husband, boyfriend, or even still-at-home son — has the sniffles. But to him, it’s like a crippling disease. He wants to be waited on hand and foot.

What you’re reading here is an actual ongoing case, where only the names have been changed. Now, all these activities cost money. So if you’d consider making a donation, send it to the e-mail address below, using PayPal. This is non-profit. After my expenses are reimbursed, I pledge to put the remaining funds into the publication of a print version of this handbook.

Today was Day Two and we’ve already seen dramatic changes.

Here, you will learn more than you ever imagined about how to cure the illness and get the male back on his feet… like you and I would be.

Check again tomorrow for more updates.

Donations are not required. You may make free use of these nonproprietary strategies. But loosen your purse strings if you can.

Thank you for yesterday’s donations.

.

Amanda clicked.
Forty-seven dollars
. “Wow! Christine might be on to something.” Then she clicked on the first main narrative — for Day Two. The blog hadn’t been up on Day One.

.

Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold

Day Two

My sister’s husband drove up this evening in a borrowed panel truck and pretended to be the cable guy. He wore regular jeans and a shirt he borrowed from a mechanic friend named Ralph.
Marty
didn’t seem to notice. He just sat on the couch in his saggy PJs with his mouth open and snot dripping from his nose. His main response was to repeat:
You
mean it can’t be fixed
tonight?

All this technician actually did was snip off the end of a Q-tip and put it inside the metal housing of the coax cable end. It keeps the pin from making contact, but still allows the fitting to be partly screwed-on. No way
Marty
will figure that out.

No TV means no entertainment. And you know men don’t read books.

Missy
and I confiscated the racy catalogs, so Victoria still has all her secrets. Also took all ladies’ magazines with anything remotely provocative on the cover. No visual print stimuli at all, not even the JCPenney flyer with the huge sale on bras and panties.

All the booze is gone. Not a drop remains.

If the absence of booze, TV, and pretty girls doesn’t kill him, this healthy food diet will surely run him out. More food surprises coming up tomorrow!

* * * *

Christine arrived at Amanda’s apartment a few minutes after noon. Today was the first scheduled alternative therapy session with Jason. She let herself in with a borrowed key and found Jason on the couch snoring with his mouth open.

This was only the second time she’d actually been alone with Jason. Christine paused to take in this unusual specimen. He was actually good-looking, way underneath that uncombed hair and three-day beard. But he needed less beer and more stomach crunches if he wanted to keep that belly from blooming. Of course, right then he looked positively horrid: unshowered, snoring, and wearing those awful saggy pajama bottoms. Even highchair babies kept cleaner shirts!

Speaking of babies, if Jason didn’t have the apparent need to be babied through his minor sickness, he might possibly make a good partner. From what little detail she’d squeezed out of Amanda, Christine concluded that Jason was a pretty good lover. Not toe-curling great, probably, but good enough. Selfish like most men, but occasionally attentive. Clumsy like most men, but he tried. Christine wouldn’t necessarily settle for that, but she figured Amanda would.

Christine wore her usual type of blouse, which showed just enough cleavage to keep men interested but not so much that women overtly despised her. Her skirt was the ideal length for very nice legs and the right cut for curvy hips. Christine wished she had legs and hips as perfect as Amanda’s. Of course, she would not wish for Amanda’s bust… nobody wants to move back down to a B-cup.

She cleared her throat loudly and Jason’s head bobbed up, his mouth still open from the current snore.

“What the crud?” His lower face had drool streaks.

“I’m here for your first treatment.”

“Treatment?” He was still fuzzy.

“Surely Amanda already briefed you on our schedule of alternative remedies to help get you past these crucial days of the illness. Remember?”

“Uh, maybe. I guess. Well, I heard her talking about something. Not sure what.”

“Yes, that was it. Good. I’m glad you remember clearly. During sickness like yours, it’s important to keep mental clarity.” Christine motioned for him to move his feet.

He did, very slowly, and groaned a bit. It sounded fake.

Christine took a section of newspaper and whapped the couch cushion twice. Then she folded the paper, placed it on the footstool, and sat on the newly-available seat. “Now, you know the natural health food diet I’ve researched is just part of the equation. The other major portion is therapy, and for that I’ve had to reach far beyond conventional modern medicine. Some of these treatments go back centuries.”

“You’re not talking about leeches and stuff.” His eyes showed logical alarm.

“Not that far back. Just a couple of generations, actually. Now, a key to your recovery is to flush or draw impurities out of your body.”

“Uh, I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” Jason leaned away slightly. “I think Amanda can handle my impurities okay.”

“Nonsense. Amanda hasn’t done the research and she doesn’t have the constitution for it. Plus, she’s at work.” Christine figured that covered the bases. “So it’s up to me.”

“What are you talking about doing?”

“You’ll need to peel off that filthy shirt.” Her nose wrinkled as she pointed.

Jason looked around the room like he expected a hidden camera. He slowly pulled the soiled shirt over his head and sniffed it before he tossed it on the footstool.

Christine knew he’d put it back on later. Men liked their clothes to smell broken in. “Now, as everybody already knows, the blood flowing through the heart exits over the arterial system and reenters through the veins. Some of the organs help filter the blood before it returns to the heart. But there are also indicators — mostly in overseas research, so far — that certain glandular actions may have beneficial effects on the body’s overall system by trapping particular impurities. Not those directly within the bloodstream, of course.”

“Sounds about right.” Jason probably wasn’t used to being around nicely dressed, attractive women with his own shirt off. He looked like he wanted to cross his arms, but didn’t.

Christine noticed Jason’s nipples were erect.
Must be nervous.
Most of what she was doing in this entire course of the Scare-Cure was extemporaneous, a bit like improv. But seeing Jason’s nipples, and his obvious discomfort at being barechested in front of her, gave Christine an idea. So, like a good scientist, she altered her course. Well, maybe that’s a bad scientist.
Whatever
. She continued her build-up. “But this concerns auxiliary impurities within the body, specifically related to airways.”

“Don’t the lungs handle that?”

“Correct. Good, Jason.” She reached over and patted his bare shoulder.

Jason flinched.

“But lungs only do part of the job. There’s a growing body of research on the auxiliary part played by the glands.” This was where Christine veered from her original plan to put the poultice on his back. “Especially the mammary glands.”

When Jason heard the word “mammary” he perked up considerably. Two of those were peeking out over the top of Christine’s low-cut blouse as she leaned forward slightly.

She noticed him looking but didn’t mind. In fact, Christine more or less invited such scrutiny. But she also liked to ration it, so she put her hand daintily to her bosom and continued, “So the way to bolster this natural auxiliary system is to periodically drain those impurities which have collected in this glandular network, centered over the frontal lung region, specifically the mammary gland. I’m sure you’ve seen this in the medical news.”

“Maybe. Well, yeah, I think the news. Or might’ve been a TV doctor.”

“Whichever. So anyway, I’ve prepared a poultice which I’ll apply over your right chest region. This is purposefully away from your heart, so there’s no direct interference with the blood-pumping system.”

With the word “mammary” still in his brain and Christine’s fulsome cleavage right in front of his face, Jason seemed unable to focus on the rest of her explanation. Most likely, he didn’t truly appreciate the particulars of this therapy until Christine gently prodded around his right nipple with two long, manicured fingernails.