Sore throat? Check. Embarrassing cough that causes people to give you dirty looks (ie: looks that say ‘if-you-even-think-about-coughing-remotely-close-to-me…’?) Check. Runny nose that’s so runny that it has turned a pinkish hue from all the nose-blowing? Check. All these checks, yet no good has come from it. We are sick, and whiny, and no matter what medication we take to sooth our souls, nothing is quite right without that extra touch. Why is it, that when us blonde, bronzed, twentysomethings are as sick as a bitch, all we want is some TLC?
I’m lying in my bed, clinging onto my throat (as if that will make it feel better), wishing that someone would whisk into my apartment with popsicles, cough candies and most importantly, some matzo ball soup. And then I realize I’m no longer the independent Jenny Jen, but I am just like Samantha Jones in ‘Sex and the City’ when she pulls out her little black book to find someone…anyone to take care of her. Well not just anyone. She’s on the hunt for a man to tender-love-and-care her sickness away. This episode, aptly titled ‘All or Nothing’, results in Carrie coming over to mix a concoction of fanta orange pop and other medicated stuff in a blender. Ain’t no loving there, folks. No matter how much medicine Miss strong, bold, sure-of-herself takes, she still yearns for a man to help her get by.
And then, I do it. I stop wishing and I start doing. I ask the guy in my life if he’d mind picking up some soup for me after work, and his response: “I already planned on it anyways.” Sigh. Life is good. (Though he did end up forgetting it and we did have to go to the restaurant to get it, but I lucked out and got a ‘for here’ and a ‘to go’ soup out of it. Score.) After I had said bowl (while said boy mowed down on an Angus burger…) I suddenly felt better. Perhaps chicken soup for the sick one’s soul isn’t just an old wives tale (or the title of a book), or perhaps what it comes down to is TLC.
Have you ever been sick and just wanted your man to come home with some chicken soup, or popsicles (or maybe even suited up in a male nurses’ outfit a la Gaylord Focker in Meet the Parents?) Sure you can buy yourself the popsicle, you can even get a resto to deliver soup right to your doorstep, but something almost magical happens when someone else gives it to you. And the better the soup they get, the better you feel. Campbell’s is a ‘the thought that counts’ kind of thing, whereas Pickle Barrel’s is a ‘i’m ready to go for a jog and feel great’ kind of thing.
So once you feel those summer sniffles come on, don’t forget the best medicine at all.
– Jenny Jen (cough, cough)