Man Flu: The condition shared by all males wherein a common illness, usually a mild cold, is presented by the patient as life-threatening.
Also known as: ‘Fishing for Sympathy’, ‘Chronic Exaggeration’ or the one I like the most…’SWINE flu’
The patient will exhibit symptoms such as a prodigious desire for compassion while simultaneously discarding any efforts their loved one’s make to conciliate them.
Man: *Groans loudly* “I’m dying, I’m dying!”
Woman: (Comfortingly) “Oh, I’m sure you’re not dying!”
Man: “I think I have the dreaded….” DUN DUN DUN… *cough SPLUTTER COUGH* …”Man Flu!”
Woman: “Aww, you poor thing, you!” *Starts to mop his brow*
Man: (Outraged) *Bats off any attempts to make him feel better* and starts repeating over….”I’ve got the Man Flu!”
After the 100th time “I’ve got the man flu” passes his lips…
Woman: “Oh my poor baby. Do you need some sympathy?”
Man: “Yes! But no one understands my pain!”
Woman: “Oh, I understa…”
Man: “NO YOU DON’T!” He snaps and continues to sulk like a scolded Basset hound.
As you can see by the previous example, Man flu is to be taken very seriously. We wouldn’t want our men to suffer now, would we?
As our Man’s imaginary temperature shoots through that imaginary roof, so does our patience. There are only so many times we can tolerate their constant droning.
“Mandy….Mandy!” My husband calls.
Now, he only calls me “Mandy” when he is after something…
“Can you fetch me the ATISHOOOOOOOsues”? He exaggerates, pathetically pointing to the box of tissues 2 inches from his side.
So along with the long list of symptoms this joyous man flu brings, they also develop the inability to reach, lift and pick up after themselves. As we leave the room to cook up some homemade broth, we add a few drops of “Man the f*** up”. Unfortunately, our secret formula doesn’t work and so we continue to wait at their every beck and call.
“Mandy….Mandy!” He continues to call.
“Yes, darling?” I chirp jubilantly, smiling a fraudulent smile.
“I need…. I need….I need…” he struggles…
“Yes, what is it, my dear?” I question, a slight impatience in my tone.
*Cough SPLUTTER COUGH* “……Chocolate!” he begs like a droopy eyed Basset hound pawing at my leg, whining it’s sorrowful tune.
And so my half-eaten broth is dispersed, and I make my way to the supermarket to stock up on some chocolaty goodness, along with half the contents of the pharmacy!
“This will sort him out!” I convince myself.
Only, when we return our poor man has taken a turn for the worse…
“I think it’s time…” he chokes, barely able to form the words to speak
“Time for what?” I ask, a panic rushing over me.
*Cough SPLUTTER COUGH* “It’s…..Tiiiiiime!” He continues, beginning to put the fear of God into me.
I can see the angels gathering at his side. The violins begin to play their mournful melody and out pops a priest from a vaporous doorway.
“It’s time for you to pass me the damn remote and turn this Jeremy Kyle crap off!” He groans, a liveliness in his voice.
“I can see I’m not needed here!” The priest grunts, as he slips back into the mist, muttering “Time wasters!”
After I prompt the angels to fly away and waft off the misty doorway, I grudgingly switch on the football and make myself scarce.
“Mandy….Mandy!” the halls echo.
“Yes, my dear?” I smile, but underneath the facade I’m actually on the verge of taking a baseball bat to his head.
“My fffffff fffffff feet are cold, can you give them a rub?” he utters, suddenly adopting the shivers.
“Sure thing!” I grumble, removing his shoes and socks, and preparing myself for the cheese fest to come.
So after enough foot massages to put me off cheese for life, I find myself physically and emotionally drained.
“This man flu malarkey sure is hard work!” I grumble.
Suddenly, he begins to erupt *Cough SPLUTTER COUGH SPLUTTER COUGH….splutter*. You see, when a man gets a case of the man flu, his illness is always 10 TIMES WORSE THAN OURS!
But yet, if us ladies get ill, we just carry on our day-to-day life, be it looking after our children or working 9-5. We generally don’t take the day off unless we are lying on our deathbeds. We generally don’t complain either, nor do we develop the inability to do… ANYTHING!
But WAIT ONE MINUTE…what’s this?
While we assume Man flu is nothing but a fabricated myth, it turns out man flu is…
DUN DUN DUN….
That’s right, you heard me! Man Flu is the real deal. Studies suggest that men may actually suffer more when they have influenza (or in other words, The Flu) due to high levels of testosterone, weakening their immune’s response.
*PUTS THE BASEBALL BATS DOWN!*
And so I pop the kettle on, make countless cups of tea and give my man my undivided attention and loving care… Too bad I slipped some sedatives into his tea and he’ll be getting that much-needed rest….for the REST of the day, night – and if I’m really lucky -tomorrow morning!
“Peace at bloody last” I sigh, tuning into some of that Jeremy Kyle crap.