.. is a lot of time to spend in introspection, curled up tight into a ball (or sprawled out like an amorphous mass in my case), unable to lift my head and throat as they were being bombarded by the triune forces of a sore, swollen throat, a fever and a banging headache to boot. And think did I – when I was not obsessively googling home remedies for what turned out to be some flu strain sent from hell.
It started innocuously enough as a slightly sore throat on Friday evening, one which I felt strong enough to shake off. My late night out in the cold with Media and Tech from church certainly didn’t help, but by Saturday evening I was a quivering wreck, barely able to swallow or even move my head. I managed to make church, making a pitstop at Boots to grab a pack of lemsips and strepsils, which did nada to ease my discomfort.
It would take several iterations (lemsip>strepsils>strepsils extra strength> throat numbing sprays> ibuprofen+) before I would find something that eased my pain enough to allow me down the huge quantities of fluids my throat needed to regenerate itself and heal.
The upside to all this? An ever clear conviction that this dude needs to sort himself out ASAP – the single, isolated life’s not worth it at all. A one liner for this discovery?
A bloke needs a wife, like a Nigerian man loves his fried chicken.
And no, a wife is not to be gobbled up….