The horror all began yesterday.
It began as any normal day would. There were no warnings, no early signs—nothing to prepare me for what was coming.
It was like being in a B-movie horror film, in a manufactured life where everything is almost normal, while one small overlooked detail reveals to the hero (and to the audience) that something is just not right. For me that small detail began a prolonged journey somewhere near my nasal septum and slowly—oh, how slowly!—crept its way down my nasal passages. It slowly gained in strength, until what began as an imperceptible particle became an itch; until the itch became a sniffle; and until the sniffle became a gigantic mass of mucous, crawling down my nostrils until it paused like a diver on a board, and then dripped onto my desk.
I stared at it.
I was coming down with a cold. Panic set in, and I quickly called my wife to inform her that I only had a few moments to live. She tried to calm me down with some "it's-just-a-cold" talk, but we men know better. Colds are demons. The slightest sniffle can relegate the strongest of men to the couch for days on end, with nothing to do but catch up on TV shows, and nothing to eat but chocolate milk shakes.
Colds, apparently, do not affect women as they do men. I know this because women simply do not understand. And, to illustrate (nay, prove!) this point, I have documentary footage below.
I pray I'll recover.
P.S. My nose just dripped again.