If there were a dictionary definition of ‘man flu’ it would probably read a little something like this…
‘Infection of the male psyche, symptoms include sore throats (from moaning about said flu), copious amounts of used, ‘man-size’ tissues and a strange, ‘poorly’ feeling. Man flu has been known to strike during the winter months and some sufferers believe it to be deadly though this theory has never been proved’.
Ok, so perhaps that is a little detailed for a dictionary entry but it pretty much sums up this curious infliction that affects half of the British population at some stage in their lives. What was a mere sniffle or tickly cough last night has now suddenly become a monstrous disease intent on replacing the man you know with the love child of a snarling beast and injured puppy.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that men aren’t entitled to get ill every once in a while, I would just prefer it if they could do it with a little more dignity. A case and point would be at the end of the last term, when I was struck down with a rather nasty cold, headache, sore throat… you know the drill. It wasn’t great but I still trooped into work, got some early nights, and drank lots of water and ‘fruit infusions’ flu stuff to make myself feel better. A couple of days later and my boyfriend is attacked by the same nasty cold. Within 24 hours he is in agony and up to his ears in fancy Kleenex man-size tissues, paracetomol and popping enough pills to start his own pharmacy. It is apparently, the end of the world and our flat is taken over by the sound of sneezing, coughing and moaning about HIS condition.Watching how he winced every time he blew his nose, I was not struck by an overwhelming need to nurse him better but instead by an overwhelming need to tell him, loudly and in no uncertain terms, to ‘man up!’ A term I truly loath but seems appropriate in this situation. Does this make me a bad girlfriend?
Even now as I write this, I am in the throws of a nasty little virus that has taken up residency in my throat and head. I feel truly wretched but I know that it is not the end of the world. I’ll simply leave work a bit earlier, eat a vitamin packed meal and hit the hay in an attempt to sleep it off. All these decisions are made in my head, without the need to inform the rest of the office. Unlike my male co-workers who would prefer to push their bodies to the limits and let everyone know about it, rather than simply take a sick day.
After conferring with (female) friends, we have united against the problem: it is not so much that they are ill, but more the array of noises that accompany man flu. While a woman would confide that she is feeling less than perky but then get on with the job in hand, a man is more likely to tell everyone and anyone how bad he feels, justifying his claims with sighing, wheezing and wincing with every slight movement. “It’s the heavy sighing I can’t stand!” claimed one friend, “The constant need to let everyone know how ill they are”. So a word of advice boys; next time the dreaded Man Flu strikes, please would you kindly press the mute button and suffer in silence!
