Tim is claiming to have a cold. He looks pretty healthy to me, but then again, he sighs dramatically, insists that he has a headache and that he needs some tender loving care. Still, he’s quite endearing when he’s sick, which is something that cannot be said about me in the same circumstances. I, normally, turn into a red nosed, irritable, whiny, aggressive and completely unbearable sneezing-wheezing-coughing bag of germs. And the way it usually goes is as follows: Tim gets his cold first and then graciously shares it with me, only by the time it gets to me, the bacteria usually would have developed a mean streak and decide to come down with all the vengeance. Ah, the joys of marriage and its joint marital colds. By now, I have the cold alert procedures worked out. Due to the dislike and the disbelief in the healing power of cold medication, I rely on my patented, highly effective and scientifically proven way of curing colds: Mom’s chicken soup. Hectoliters of Mom’s chicken soup to be exact. And you know what? It really works. My theory is that chicken soup is pure love, it is warmth, it is home, it is a feeling that someone really loves you; it’s all you need to feel better. [Either that, or terrified by the prospect of another bowl of soup, the patient recuperates on the spot]
