The Dreaded Man Cold…ATTACKS!!!

Oh y'all. I don't WANT to tease the Professor, I really don't. But…but…sometimes it is just so EASY. So I saw the opportunity today and gently – GENTLY LIKE THE SPRING BREEZE – asked him if it was okay to blog about his man cold. He relented, probably because he was delirious from the consumption or rickets, or scurvy that he is suffering from – and so here goes. All true, except for the parts I made up.

The Professor: I. Am. Dying.
Me: No you are not.
The Prof: YES I am. Dying. Dig the grave, call the coroner.
Me: What are your symptoms?
The Prof: Cough! *hack hack hack SNIFF* I have a FATAL COUGH. Also? Stuffy. In the nose. DEAD! I'm already dead.
Me: I think…sweetheart? Darling? Precious? Yooooooooooooou might be exaggerating. Just a touch. A drop. A smidge. I think you might be suffering from the MANCOLD.
The Prof: I can't hear you, the moldy breath of the Grim Reaper is so raspy and ringing in my ear.
Me: Oh for chrissakes.
The Prof: OH FINE, don't believe me. You'll be sorry when I'm dead.
Me: What the fu…no one is dying! You're fine, you just have a cold oh my GOD.
The Prof: I see the light…
Me: I? Give up. Fine, you're dying. The end is near. I'll put fresh flowers on your grave every Sunday, love. Promise.
The Prof: *cough cough snorf* I don't appreciate your tone, miss. OMG I HAVE SWINE FLU.
Me:This conversation is over.

Of course not more than 12 hours later? I have a swollen gland and I'm a little stuffy. CLEARLY THIS IS A FATAL ILLNESS PROBABLY BUBONIC PLAGUE BROUGHT ABOUT BY TOO MANY 12 HOUR DAYS AND MAYBE CHEETOS TOO.

And the Professor? Just blows his nose miserably and reminds me that if I die, he dies too.

We are SO pathetic.

ACHOO!


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