A Wisp Of Nothing

You are kidding me, right?

The Good Lady stood at the entrance of the living room with a hand on her hip and an expression on her face that could deflate a tumescent penis at a hundred yards.

I raised my head weakly from the couch on which I lay, like an old bag of washing.

I opened my mouth to speak but all that came out was a feeble croak as if I were a dried-out old frog in a shoe.

The Good Lady raised an eyebrow to add to her already stern expression. Somewhere, a kitten died.

You do know you are sitting in your underpants? In the lounge?

The Good Lady had very definite ideas about what should be worn and where. Unfortunately, these ideas often seemed to involve sensible shoes.

I looked at her with sad eyes. Eyes of suffering. Eyes that spoke the volumes it seemed that my voice could not.

I raised a hand tremulously like an old pope wanting a bit of ring-kissing.*
*_{a term which takes on a whole new meaning in the 21st century...}

She stepped in and waved away my wavering hand.

Are you seriously this hungover... Again?!

Hmmph.

I shook my head and my body joined in in a convulsive shiver.

No, baby. I'm not hungover, honest??

I managed to squeak out in a less manly voice than I normally like to think I possess.

Well, get up and get washed and get dressed. There are people coming round.

The Good Lady said more flatly than one of her famous omelettes.

It was ok, she thought I was hungover. She didn't know I was ill. Why else would I be lolloping around in my pants and making whiny noises? I had awoken from a fevered slumber with a scratchy throat and a strange all-over ache that screamed, MAN-FLU.

Not the man-flu that women sneer and laugh at. Oh no, proper man-flu. Of the kind that would kill a woman if they were ever to suffer such a thing.

Fortunately for them, it appears to only strike the strong and doughty.

And the strong and doughty in this case, was me.

She stood there still. Stern, commanding and tough. But it was ok, it was just because she thought I was hungover and malingering. She thought it was self-inflicted.

She was a loving sort though.

When she realised what I was going through it would break her heart and her soft side would come screeching to the fore.

I mustered all the strength I had and managed to speak again.

I'm ill. I feel terrible. I think it's the flu or something. Look at me. I'm BROKEN...

I made a forlorn sniffing noise and fluttered my eyelashes wetly at her.

Beuuurkk.

She made a strange and mad clucking sound.

Yer arse. It's probably just the cold. Get up, get washed and get dressed. We have people coming round.

I looked at her with incomprehension. Maybe she hadn't heard? I thought I would repeat myself for her dull and senseless ears.

Didn't you hear? I am ill. I feel really awful and...

UP!!! In the SHOWER!! Come on, we have people coming round?!

She grabbed a cushion and started flailing at me as if I were a sheep and she wanted to daub my arse with blue paint.

WTFUNK?!?!

Feebly I got to my feet and trudged off to the shower. Maybe I would download Tinder or something and get a better wife.

When I was better that is.