When I woke up this morning, I could feel it in the back of my throat. A little tickle, the beginning of a cough. I looked in the mirror and gave my reflection a pep talk. It’s summer and I have things to do, I lectured myself sternly. Surely if I ignore this cold long enough, it will go away.
But it doesn’t. Not when I went to the grocery store, or worked in the garden, or made dinner. This cold hangs around, making me congested and cranky and tired.
So much cranky. So much congestion.
By the time the children are in bed, my cold has progressed to a full blown, drippy mess catastrophe. My chest is heavy and my head is pounding.
This in no way deters my amorous husband. When he tries to hold my hand, I stare him down and say two simple words: No. Way.
So, instead of smooching, he makes me hot chocolate. Which is true love in action.
I slump onto the couch, surrounded by soft pillows and purring cats. I hold my better-than-sex-hot chocolate and I breathe in its steaming, sugary smell.
Then I find just the right movie to watch. I need one with elegant actresses from the 40’s and 50’s, putting their hair up in chignons, wearing pearls and gloves. I need an older movie that uses the word “Technicolor” in bold letters and an orchestra playing in the opening credits. I need glitz and Hollywood glamor. Stat.
In a nutshell, I need Marilyn Monroe.
I end up watching How to Marry a Millionaire while I sip my cocoa and blow my nose. The cats keep my feet warm and I am blessedly alone, not needing to fill anyone’s needs but my own. For ninety-five beautiful minutes I forget my scratchy throat and my congested chest. I can breathe again.
It’s Marilyn Monroe magic.