Well that title is fairly self-explanatory I think. So see you next week.

Just yankin your chain.

This week can be somewhat appropriately represented by these three nouns.

First, Trolls. 

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You know what hugs are great for? Sharing germs. Way to go Poppy.

My oldest niece is currently going through a Trolls phase. At least twice a day she asks for “Everybody oh oh oh.” Since she is not quite two, I can understand why the bright, song-filled movie is appealing to her. In fact, the adults of the house have agreed that the movie was either designed by a think-tank of five-year-olds, or the people who made it were crazy high the whole time. Either way I think we are all excited for this phase to be over.

Second, Molds.

I’ve been getting allergy shots for my new-found mold allergy for over a month now. I do feel that they are already starting to help–I have been sinus-infection-free since July despite the very wet September we are having (molds love the rain). The only downside to the shots is that they tend to trigger migraines. In the long run this may be a good thing, as that suggests that mold is a big migraine trigger for me right now; once I get the allergy under control my migraines will likely improve. For right now though, it does make shot day a tad tricky.

Third, Woman Colds.

The Woman Cold is a term I have decided on to describe a phenomenon as real and as ancient as The Man Cold. The Woman Cold, like it’s masculine counterpart, can of course be experienced by either sex. Its name is simply an acknowledgement that the majority of its sufferers are women.

The Woman Cold refers to a cold/illness that the sufferer chooses to ignore and remain in

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Ron with his Woman Cold

denial about until something drastic happens. The owner of The Woman Cold will continue with life as normal, steadfastly insisting that “it’s not that bad” until they either recover or get much, much sicker.

This week I had a Woman Cold. There’s been a cold going around campus and I finally succumbed. Really, as far as the cold itself goes, it was nothing to write home about. The cold was not the primary problem though–the whole week my chest was getting tighter, I was coughing a little, then a lot, then A LOT.

Just part of the little, trifling cold I was sure. It will pass.

Eh. Wrong.

Friday morning I came back from my morning class. I set my backpack on the floor of my room. I bent over to retrieve my phone from its depths. Suddenly I was seized by an intense coughing fit that led me to discover this equation:

Intense coughing + bent over Miranda = throw up on my poor backpack.

Oops.

Now I really, really didn’t want to throw up on someone else’s backpack, so I finally accepted that it was time to stay home from class. My Woman Cold had sneakily metamorphosized into bronchitis.

Actually, as I have already mentioned, this development wasn’t sneaky at all, but as a fundamental part of The Woman Cold is denial, virtually every outcome except full recovery comes as a surprise to the sufferer.

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And don’t think for a second I’m saying that The Woman Cold is a good thing–if many of my professors and classmates hadn’t come down with this particular branch of the cold then I probably wouldn’t have gotten it. They were in denial, they came to class sick, they got other people sick and that ultimately led to me getting bronchitis. The Woman Cold is just as annoying and foolish as the man one. Well almost.