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With This Booger, He Thee Weds

Meh.

This is no good. I’m all achy and tired, with no energy. I’m cranky, lazy, and out of sorts. On the way to work, I couldn’t stop sweating, and on the way home, I couldn’t get warm. Monday Night Football’s about to come on, and all I want to do is crawl under a blanket and sleep until morning. There are only two possible explanations:

Either I picked up a bug during Friday night’s softball playing/rugby watching extravaganza, or I’ve hit menopause.

The latter seems fairly unlikely, of course. For one thing, I’m only thirty-five. For another — not a woman. I’m no anatomical whiz, but I’m pretty sure you need a vagina to go through menopause. The penis-packers, we get stopped at the door by the menopause bouncers. On the other hand, I have no desire to sleep with men, so maybe it is menopause, after all.

(Of course, I’ve never had the desire to sleep with men before, either, so that’s probably not relevant. Maybe if I’d gone to sleepover camp when I was a kid, eh? Who knows.)

Nah, it’s not menopause. We fellas walk a different path into our golden years. Mostly involving baldness, sports cars we don’t need, and uncomfortably intimate prostate exams. Honestly, I think I’d prefer the menopause. I can handle a few hot flashes and having my boobs squished by a health professional every now and then. Hell, I might even like it. Try me.

Meanwhile, I’ve got to shake this bug. I’ve got a full week of nonsense planned, and snorking phlegm all over myself and others is probably not going to help matters. Especially because there’s a wedding involved, at the end of the week. I hear that blowing snot onto the bride is generally frowned on in our particular culture. If we were Mayan, maybe. Or Sumerian. But it’s not going to fly in Wakefield, MA; I’m pretty sure of that.

So, I’m out of here for now. ESPN just moved over from NFL pregame banter to figure skating coverage, so it’s time to find the remote, take some NyQuil, and sleep through the game. Nothing like the dulcet tones of a drunken John Madden to lull you to sleep. Nighty night.