I get a lot of colds. This is for several reasons: I eat mostly cheese. I stay out too late, or, when I stay in, up too late. I hate exercise, and only do it when my vanity gets the better of me. And I clearly did not win the genetic lottery when it comes to health.
Both sides of my family are long-lived, but we don’t let that slow us down when it comes to developing curious ailments. My grammy on my Mom’s side used to get weird things like staph infections in her blood, or skin problems that disappeared suddenly after she got the small pox vaccine. On the other side of the family, we’ve got loads of diabetes and a little heart disease, plus a few folks who just took to their bed for one reason or another. Could have been MS or chronic fatigue or fibromyalgia. Could have been garden variety ennui. Who knows? On both sides of my family, well, let’s just say we’d be eccentric, but none of us has ever had any money.
So being prone to colds … that’s not that bad. Except that I’m just now getting over my third goddamn cold of the year. THREE. It’s December, people. Where will I be come flu season? UNDER THE GROUND, that’s where.
My friend Smyres has a theory that all this cold-getting will benefit me in the end. “Suit,” she says. “I figure that by the time the old avian flu gets here, you’ll have built up an immunity. Whereas folks like me, who never get colds? We’ll be stone dead.” I want Smyres’ collection of Johnny Cash records, if that happens.
In the meantime, however, I welcome all advice on building the immune system, as long as it doesn’t involve any creepy hippie shit or like, taking care of myself. Actually, come to think of it, shut up. Achoo!