Tired, coughing and tired of coughing

I’m avoiding the clear broth route so far, but could gin be an exception?

My good friend Wilson stopped shaking hands decades ago. With anyone. Ever. Instead, he does this elaborate elbow touching ritual that looks like a cross between Kung Fu and old, white-guy dancing.

We do this every time we meet. And we get together often since Wilson has also been Living by Lunch for many years now, seeing friends on a strict schedule for dining and discussion. He believes that hand shaking is a dangerous vector for the transmission of bacteria and viruses, and so stopped doing it to preserve his health. He claims not have had a cold in years. Of course, he also claims that eating fruit, nuts and clear broth is the secret to health, that mankind will destroy itself by next Tuesday (lunch is still on) and that smoking huge cigars improves brain function. So, in perspective, the elbow bumping seems pretty mild.

But I think Wilson, who is one of the smartest, wisest people I have met in my entire life, is onto something. I think smoking cigars does improve brain function. Look at Winston Churchill and Groucho Marx. OK, I mean he’s onto something about germs.

I haven’t gone as far as Wilson yet. I still shake hands with people, but I have to admit when I do it (if I’m paying attention and haven’t had two martinis at a party) I’m always thinking about the germ transfer. As you can imagine, this makes me a warm and gracious dinner guest.

Host: “Hey buddy. Great to see you! (shakes hands vigorously)

Me: “Yes, welcome” (Thinking: Oh God, millions of germs live on the human hand. I wish I was wearing latex)

But lately I wonder if Wilson wasn’t ahead of the curve. (Not on the clear broth thing as food. That’s bonkers). This winter I have had the worst cold I’ve had in my whole life, putting me in bed for several days and knocking me down for almost two weeks. Lucky for me this was followed almost immediately by the flu. That put me in bed for several days and still has me coughing like an insane barking beagle.

I wish I was kidding, but I’m not. I’ve coughed so much in January and February that my wife thinks she’s living in the consumption ward in Dicken’s England. I’d also make a good tragic character in a Russian novel, except no one really wants to live with a tragic character from a Russian novel, particularly if they cough incessantly and drink all the vodka in the house. Plus, who can remember their names?

Along with the coughing, this cold or whatever mutant virus it really is, brings with it a dull headache, loss of appetite, sore joints, fatigue and, according to my wife, “being even more grumpy than usual.”

I’m not sure that last one is an actual medical symptom, though it should be. “This drug may cause nausea, dizziness, shortness of breath, blurry vision and being an irritable toad at home.”

Some people may gauge how sick they are by subtle medical signs such as a high fever or blood draining from their eyes, but personally, I know I’m really sick based on the following symptoms:

A. Coffee neither smells nor tastes good.

B. I say things like, “Maybe I’ll have a cup of tea.” in an English accent (I hate tea and I’m not that fond of “The Crown.”)

C. I don’t want beer or wine or gin. I know what you are thinking. “But gin is medicine.” And you’re right. I find it cures almost everything including anxiety, fatigue, and boring dinner conversations. Everything seems better with gin. Except this cold.

I would go to the doctor, but I already know what she will tell me: “Your appointment was an hour ago. Anyway, you have a virus. Get rest, drink plenty of fluids (not gin) and man up. I’ve got actual sick people to see.”

So, here I am, a hacking, noseblowing, tired, un-caffeinated listless couch potato of a man. But there may be some hope. Yesterday, my wife said, “I can tell you’re starting to feel better.”

“Really?” I said. “How?” “You’re more unpleasant and sarcastic.”

You know, it might be time for a gin — for her.