I feel helpless and needy as the third and worst day drags on. Men are horrible when they are ill and on this third day I am one of those men, useless...and sucky. My wife laughs a tiny laugh as she sees me typing away watching the sinus tears travel down my cheeks. I know what she is thinking because she had the same cold just a week ago and for some reason, a mystery still unknown to man, unlike me she continued as though her wall of cold was a mere step compared to the mountainous hurdle I am. Sipping a glass of twelve-year-old Glenmorangie, ice tinkling in the cut-crystal glass, I enjoyed the smooth peaty flavor, the coolness in my mouth, and blossom of heat in my stomach as I swallowed. My mind drifted, meandering back over the last thirteen years. Life had worked out well, just not quite how I’d envisioned.The three females in my life seemed to communicate psychically. I’d find one or another of the girls coming to bed with me every so often, Alia absent. There were no fights, no. More

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