Husband has a Man Cold.
It is like Freddy Kreuger starring in a Greek Tragedy crossed with a train wreck: excruciating to watch. Judging by the noises Husband makes, it is excruciating to experience too. I feed him snacks to keep his strength up and bustle around making him cups of hot port, Lemsip, and tea.
He says things like, ‘Close the door on your way out’, when I’m nowhere near a door (don’t ask me what that means; the joke was too obscure even for me.)
This morning I offered to make him some porridge.
“With some raisins mixed into it?” he asked, liberally punctuated by a long sniff.
“Sure, no problem.”
“Are there any raisins left?” he asked. The way he said it was unbearably pathetic. In case you missed it, here’s the subtext: ‘If there are no RAISINS, it will possibly be more than I can humanly ENDURE, and I will seriously consider jumping off, well, something really very high, and don’t doubt for a moment that I wouldn’t totally go and do it if I had the energy or could think of something really very high.’
Thank christ there were raisins.
I hope he feels better soon. My subtext is: I hate seeing my man so miserable