The Hack of Her

There is a poster at the doctor’s office that gives you vital clues on what to do when you have a hacking cough.  Admittedly, it assumes you have MANNERS.

When you have a hacking, disgusting cough that sounds like you are birthing an old man each time you rack it out, you should have the decency to at a bare minimum TURN YOU HEAD AWAY from other humans and cover your mouth.  Then hack him up.  The poster also advises to cough into a tissue, which you then throw away, and then wash your hands for ”at least” 15 seconds.

Mammy has developed her slight cough into a full blown Middle Eastern crisis, by making sure it is loud, proud and spraying everything in it’s path.  If she wasn’t afraid of kicking me with a lawnmower attached to her foot I would have brought the poster home and displayed it under the 5000 fridge magnets for her to BLOODY READ.

As a result of her general disgustingness I now have a cough, which I have had for several days, but which got much worse last night, hence the highly expensive doctor’s visit.  It never ceases to amaze me why doctors in Ireland are complaining that nobody visits them anymore when they cost 60 euro just to visit, and to dispense prescriptons for inhalers that can only serve to help you breathe, and therefore shouldn’t NEED prescriptions as breathing is essential, which cost 8 euros.  Rip off anyone????

Lilsister is also extremely ill with, guess what, a racking, hacking cough, and is confined to her apartment quarters in isolation.  So I can’t even moan to her about it.  Papabear, the drinker, smoker, inhaler of fried foods and the most adverse man to exercise ever, is feeling ”slightly under the weather”.

All this and I am supposed to go to a party Friday night in Panties’ house – cupcakes have been promised, but I will be amongst a sea of couples, most of whom are either up the Ballyjames or have just spouted offspring.  If there are pictures I shall scream, and hack at them all.

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