I'm ill. Bwaahhh.

I'm not feeling the best of late: head clogged like a drain stuffed with peanut butter, energy level guttering like a campfire after midnight, general sense that I'm living in a cement mixer. I'm trying to just inhale my bitchiness along with all that (snorg!) mucus, but there is seepage.
You have to admire women. Most of them will, in fact, admit to feeling sick, but will act as if they're 100% anyway, thus making us men feel guilty for wanting to sleep about 25 and a half hours a day. And oh, the urge to be cuddled, loved, cared for...the urge to SHARE THIS GODDAMN VIRUS...is overwhelming at times. Here, c'mere, let me give you a deep soul kiss. There, now you're sick too. Misery loves company, dontcha know
But no, women would never think like that. Or if they do, they keep it bottled up along with their snot and sick-spit.
They're missing out!
Admit it: it's kind of fun to be sick. It brings back memories of staying home from school, warm Neo Citren (love that stuff--I used to fake being sick just to get a cup), even Vick's VapoRub, that burning icy chest slime that despite its revolting odor, always made you feel better in ten seconds flat. Or Fisherman's Friends, which taste like turperntine tablets...and that's why I always get the extra strength edition....
And if I'm gonna be ill, this is the kind of ill I wanna be: wet cough, as opposed to those dry hacking wheezy throat-full-of-glass-shards KACKs; not enough of a fever for the dancing spiders to appear; no distressing stomach gurgles leading to hasty northern--or southern--evacuations (and oh God, spare me the puking shits, the kind that come on you so suddenly you don't have time to reason out sitting on John's Throne and yarking into yon garbage bucket...instead you crawl up to the throne like a supplicant and proceed to retile the bathroom floor).
No, this is actually not bad in comparison to any of that.
But again, being sick when there's somebody healthy in the house makes you feel guilty. Being sick when there's someone else sick in the house is worse. You start wondering if the love of your life is coping with bleck that's beyond your comprehension, whilst you're whining about something that's not such of a much.
"Bwahh! I feel like shit!"
"Shaddap! I just burped up rotten Cheerios and last time I sneezed I managed to fill my right ear with snot!"
(???)
Nope, guess I'm not that sick.