I have a cold. In this, I resemble about 90% of the people I know. Everyone is sick. But no one does it with quite as much style as I do.
Have you ever seen the old black and white movie Camile? Neither have I. But I saw a clip of it once, when I was little, because it was featured in Annie, which was one of my favorite movies. In Camile, Greta Garbo basically coughs and lies around upon a divan in silk lounging attire looking tragic until she eventually dies. She looks gorgeous. I am wearing flannel and I look like shit. But the drama quotient is similiar.
I am spectularly weepy when sick. This morning, my friend Cathy called me about a party that was taking place this evening, and I had a complete nervous breakdown over the phone. I felt awful, I explained. No, really bad. I might not live to even make a decision about whether or not I was going to the party, and also, my looks were spoiled.
Cathy has known me for a very long time now and must find me amusing or something, because she was very patient with me. (It’s either that, or, as I’ve long suspected, my parents are paying her to hang out with me.) Anyway, she suggested I go to CVS and buy myself some DayQuil and Zicam, which I did.
I’d never used Zicam before, but man, it’s like crack for cold sufferers. This is some seriously great shit, and it makes me proud to be an American, and thus at liberty to stuff the landfill with used one-time disposable zinc nasal swabs. I feel much, much better now, and I got to stick something up my nose, which is almost as good as a pore strip in terms of being disgustingly satisfying. We don’t do product endorsement here at the Smash, but if we did, Zicam would be the first thing we’d shill. And by “we”, I mean “me”, plus whatever lingering rhinoviruses are floating around in my bloodstream.