Wednesday, February 28, 2007

A Post About Things Like Making Out and Soup

For all the vast benefits of having a girlfriend, like making out, being able to order more than one thing off the Chinese menu, and opening up your heart to emotions only true love and a great rack can reach, there are still some negatives, like feeling bad for waking her up to make out, having to share the Chinese food, and opening up your heart to emotions only true love and a great rack can reach. But none is worse than the sharing of diseases. No, not like herpes (that’s not “sharing,” that’s “infecting”). I mean like when one person gets a cold, so the other nurses them back to health. Then, just as one gets healthy, the other gets sick. And so on and so forth. Like a Chinese finger trap, this vicious cycle of illness ruins one’s ability to create apt metaphors.

Right now Brooke is on the downside of her cold and I am on the upswing of mine. After five days of being in close proximity to a girl so sick that even as I lay next to her, stroking her hair, consoling her with, “Don’t worry, you’ll feel better tomorrow,” she answered, “You keep saying that and I keep getting worse!” I really believed that, through sheer will power and ingesting so much Airborne that I randomly caught whiffs of oranges, I had avoided the bug. Not so lucky.

Which means that you are subjected to posts like this, and in exchange for your patience and understanding I don’t give a shit because I feel like death. So much so that for lunch today I actually ate soup, if one can call it eating. I’m not sure how the myth got started or propagated so thoroughly that when you are sick you should eat soup (clearly the soup companies are more powerful than we imagine), but why does no one make a bigger deal about this? When Valentine’s Day rolls around everyone carps on how it is nothing but a Hallmark holiday created by the greeting card industry and nurtured at the teat of commercial enterprise, yet when someone gets a runny nose and, like Pavlov’s dog, runs to the nearest soup vendor, no one accuses Campbell’s of profiteering. But they should – because I ate that “soup and half a sandwich” combo today and, like everyone else, I savored every bite of the sandwich, eating it slowly so as to not finish it first and be left with an unsatisfying cup of soup, all the while thinking, “Unless this is Garden Vegetable and Percocet soup, there is no realistic chance of this making me feel better.” And, like predicted, I’m still hungry and still sick. And the soup conglomerate is richer, having taken advantage of a weak, ill man.