"Something to Sneeze At"

By Jerry Zezima

As the very model of the modern medical marvel, I have survived an aortic aneurysm, a terrible bout of COVID-19 and. worst of all, a nasty paper cut.

Not to be outdone, my wife, Sue, lived through a heart attack, came down with COVID, too, and underwent painful hand surgery.

But we recently had to deal with the most daunting of medical challenges: We both had a cold. At the same time. So we blamed each other.

Still, I’m not ashamed to admit that, like the vast majority of men would be in similar circumstances, I was the bigger baby.

This wasn’t a surprise to my favorite pharmacist, Ralph Zammillo, who regularly sees guys who are desperately seeking relief and sympathy because they have the sniffles.

“Without a doubt, men are crybabies,” Ralph said. “Women don’t complain. That’s because they’re tougher. They have to be. They give birth. If men had to give birth, there’d be nobody here.”

That extends to getting vaccines.

“I see these big burly guys, covered in tattoos, which are applied with needles, and they cower in fear when I give them a flu shot,” Ralph said.

“You’ve given me more shots than any bartender,” I told him, noting that he’s administered vaccines for flu, coronavirus, pneumonia, RSV and shingles.

“And they haven’t hurt, right?” he said.

“Not at all,” I replied.

“That’s because I don’t jam the needle in,” Ralph said. “Have you ever had any side effects?”

“Just lightheadedness,” I said. “But I was born that way.”

“Flu and COVID can be bad if you’re not inoculated,” Ralph said. “But shingles is the most painful.”

“Do you know what’s worse than shingles?” I said.

“What?” Ralph replied.

“Aluminum siding,” I said. “It hurts like hell.”

“We don’t have a vaccine for that yet,” said Ralph.

“Do people get confused when you ask which arm they want to get a shot in?” I wondered.

“All the time,” Ralph said. “Especially when they’re getting more than one shot. They can’t decide if they should get two shots in one arm or one shot in each.”

“I’m the same way,” I said. “It’s a good thing I’m not an octopus. Then you’d have to give me a shot underwater.”

“Are you right-handed or left-handed?” Ralph asked.

“I’m ambidextrous,” I responded. “I’m incompetent with both.”

“You haven’t gotten the flu, have you?” he inquired.

“No,” I said. “The vaccine worked. But I have a cold. I’m in here to get medicine, but I don’t know what works.”

“Hot tea with honey and lemon is best,” Ralph said.

“I usually take the stuff for both daytime and nighttime relief,” I said, “but I still feel lousy. I told my wife I was going to take a nap.”

“Did she call you a baby?” Ralph asked.

“Yes,” I said. “A big one.”

“Does she have a cold?” he wondered.

“Yes,” I said.

“Did she say you gave it to her?”

“How did you know?”

“We always get blamed,” said Ralph, adding that his wife, Linda, is a hospital nurse. “She sees plenty of sick people, but she can’t afford to be sick herself. Neither can I. If I have a cold, I can’t call in sick. I come in to work. When I get home, I go to bed early. Sleep is the best way to get better.”

“How long have you been married?” I asked Ralph, who is 70.

“Two years,” he said. “Linda and I dated for 32 years, but she works for the federal government and I needed the health insurance, so we got married.”

“My wife and I have been married for 46 years,” I said. “We share everything. Even colds.”

“You’ll both get better,” Ralph promised. “In the meantime, get some rest. And remember, it could be worse. At least you’re not pregnant.”

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima