An Open Letter To My Cold

Dear Cold,

Every year, you visit me for a week. Although you have never been welcome, you’ve always known that by the 6th day, your bags ought to be packed so that on the 7th, you can go make someone else’s life miserable.

This year, your timing has been awful and you’ve been the most unpleasant guest. It’s Day 7, what the FUCK are you still doing here?!!

You come waltzing in just when I have plans. Everything was going well. Classes had begun and I was being somewhat disciplined. I had my strategy all out for my mission: to be able to pull this look off

Laugh all you want, Cold. It was working out great, then you came along. Thanks to you, I’ve consumed more food in one meal than I normally do in a whole day. After eating that much, you’re probably pleased to know that I can’t reach my toes anymore, much less exercise.Feed the cold, starve the fever. MY ASS.

I tried being nice. I thought I’d ease you out gently with lots of fluids, hot showers and rest. I even laid off meds. But NOOOOOO…. you just have to be the purulent nightmare that you are. You’ve made my hair fall, my skin dry and my voice hoarse (not in that sexy Sophia Bush way, either).

You know what? SCREW YOU. Screw you and the mucus you bring. Try overstaying your welcome. I dare you.

I will flush you out with my arsenal of weapons. Don’t think for one moment that just because it’s Lent and I can’t have chicken soup or sambal that you are spared from my wrath. Sure, my immune system appears to still be on a break but I have money and access to nasal sprays. Plus I have a fresh batch of Vaporub.

You’ll be sorry, Cold.


Sasha “Tonsil-free” Zuleika