What do you get when you cross a man with a cold?

The Bitch 3X Diaries

by Marci G. Baun © 2000

What do you get when you cross a man with a cold? A baby.

Yes, yes, I know this is an old statement, but it holds a fair amount of truth as I discovered to my dismay when my boyfriend turned up sick this last weekend. My sweet-natured, helpful, loving boyfriend became a whiny, sniveling, albeit cute, baby. And I don't mind catering to someone just a bit when they are sick, but I have my limits.

Charlie is an adult. One would think that an adult could take their medicine without whining. Hmph! Not this adult. I wanted him to take some medicine in liquid form. It had a bit of a bite to it, but it wasn't that bad. Well, the first time he took it, his face screwed up as if he had swallowed the most vile concoction imaginable (in my book, that would be liver), then he gasped, "Water!" as if he would die before he got it! He found this stuff so repugnant that every time he took a teaspoon of it, he had to chase it with Sprite. I couldn't believe it. Nor would he take it unless I spooned it into his mouth. He was worse than my nephews, and they are only nine and seven.

Well, he was quite sick, too weak to get up from his bed, or so he claimed. I'd leave him lying in his bed, miserable, and run home to finish some chores. Around 5 p.m., he'd call me to see if I could bring him some chicken noodle soup from the store because he just had to have it. His place is a real bachelor's pad...no food. I'd run over to the store, pick up the soup, go to his house, and what would I find? Him, sitting in front of his computer in his navy blue, plaid bathrobe surfing the net, looking like Death on one of His unhealthy days.

"Charlie, you should be in bed."

"But I can't just lie there and do nothing," he whined in perfect imitation of a little kid. You know the voice: that nasal whine that is guaranteed to grate on your nerves.

"You won't be 'doing nothing'. You'll be sleeping."

"But I feel..."

"Lie down." I commanded him. "The more rest you get, the sooner you'll get better."

He'd reluctantly lie down, and I'd go to fix the chicken soup.

It gets better.

I'd come back to find him on the computer again, whiter than before.

He'd turn to look at me. "Do you think I feel hot? Do you think I have a fever?"

I placed my hand on his forehead, which really doesn't work, but he did look flushed under all that white and he was quite warm. "Maybe a little. Why don't you lie down for a bit?" I was gentle, although inside I was losing my patience. "I need to use the computer anyway."

It was a sacrifice, truly. I mean, I hate computers. I don't know how I stood the hours I had to spend surfing the net, responding to email, programming, playing Tetris to save him from himself. It was torture, pure torture! Sigh! All in the name of love. As I worked (okay, played) on the computer, I happened to catch a glimpse of him crashed on his bed... asleep. The sacrifice was worth it.

Now a few days later, he is on the mend. He still whines a bit, but not that much and he's close to being the adorable, sweet-natured guy I fell in love with.

Just this morning, I talked to my mother about this phenomenon regarding men and colds.

She said, "Marci, your dad is just as bad when he's sick. Just like Charlie, he can't do anything, especially if it's something he'd rather not do. However, if he feels remotely normal and it's Saturday or Sunday, you know he'll go down to the courts to play tennis with his cronies. And what do you think happens when he gets home?"

"He's worse?"

"Of course and he's whining." She paused. "But if you love him..."

"...it's worth it."

"I think so."

I agreed. So I guess I can put up with having a full-grown child every so often.

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Marci Baun is the editor-in-chief of Wild Child Publishing and Freya's Bower. This article was first published by Wild Child Publishing in 2000. Ms. Baun will be post one "Bitch" article each week over the next 10 months or until they are all gone, whichever comes first.