I’m using art to cope with my husband’s Man-Flu

Leslie The Bearded Iris as a fed-up cartoon wife via Bitstrips on Facebook Man-Flu.

Twice in one month.

Do you feel me, ladies?

I could just stop there and know you’d all be like, “Aw HAYLE NO. We’re starting a vacation fund for you.”

But I’m going to tap into my pain like a true artist and really explore my feelings through a variety of creative outlets…

Like drawing:

Man flu through the eyes of The Bearded Iris

And haiku:

Husband sick…again.
But God said “Thou shalt not kill.”
I wish I were gay.

For real. Lesbians are smart. They can share clothes and hair products, and purchase their tampons by the cubic ton, and their bathrooms are much easier to clean. (Seriously, Ellen, call me.)

I’m actually not as heartless as I may seem.

In fact, just ask my husband! I am a picture of the perfect wife every time he is on the verge of dying from excess mucus under the weather…

dealing with man-flu

Source: Pinterest

I guess instead of wishing he’d just shove a manpon* into his achy mangina, I should be thankful for the material, because all his hacking and moaning have inspired me to research and write about the origins of marriage vows In The Powder Room today—in the unique form of two medieval priests having a conversation over beers (which was surprisingly fun to write). Because if I don’t find the funny, I will be drawing sad little stick figures in a maximum security cell block with no hope for parole.

So, go. Read. And pray for my husband’s health and my sanity. We both thank you.

With Love and Lysol,
Leslie

*Special thanks to my editorial consultant Angela who makes me laugh daily and teaches me words like manpon and mangina.

PS – I asked my husband if he would be okay with me making fun of his Man-Flu on my blog and he said it was fine, but that if he goes to the doctor and finds out he has The Bubonic Plague, I am going to have to issue a public apology. I’ll take that risk.

About The Bearded Iris

Leslie Marinelli is a writer, humorist, blogger, life hacker, and invisible vessel for grandchildren and PTA donations.
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19 Responses to I’m using art to cope with my husband’s Man-Flu

  1. Sing it Sista! OMG- twice??? I so feel your pain. Sometimes I think my husband won’t be happy until he’s diagnosed with something dreadful just so he can say “see, I told you I feel awful! Apology please.”

  2. Jane says:

    hahaha- so funny! you have way more patience than I – I just end up getting mad at him. I’m so glad you included Batman in your family portrait!

  3. FiveOGrrl says:

    I am always happy to help you make fun of people, especially when it’s family.
    I am laughing so hard. HAHA ,Call 911 and I will send a whaaaaaaaaabulance for the Gatekeeper/MPH boy.

  4. Nikki says:

    DYING. Also, you are a gifted artist. I’ll be gay with you. I wear a size 8-10 depending on the brand and a size 6 shoe. I’ll do laundry if you cook. Man-cold……meh!

  5. lisa thomson says:

    I love your illustration! My man is tough when he gets sick but I think he’s an anomaly. His mother is a retired nurse and as a child would get smothered when he was sick and so grew to never tell when he has the man-flu. He’s afraid of being harassed to health. Makes it easy for me…sorry, I know you don’t want to hear that right now. ;)

  6. Someday, I’ll write a book for prospective parents, and rule number one will be that if your husband asks for a baby, he must agree to never get sick again.

  7. Yerg! Yer all like “Nut up or SHUT UP FOOL!” but you have to be all like “Poor thing…. why don’t you go lay down.” (big fake sad face) because GAWD FORBID you come down with something (like pregnancy with mind numbing nausea that lasts for effing ever) and ask for a bit of a break…. Oh you will hear about it then!

  8. Mia says:

    Holy Crap, this made me belly laugh so loud I scared my dog. The last time my husband was sick and I tired to be “nurturing” I apparently shoved the ear-thermometer into his ear too roughly and he whined and whimpered and said “ow….not so hard please”. It’s hard having a good bedside manner with sick husbands. Thank you for the laugh today.

  9. L. Hewitt says:

    That is some fancy art work. Get well soon GK.

  10. A. I thought you said PUBIC apology when I first read the end of this post.

    B. I think my husband would prefer a PUBIC apology over a public one.

    C. Where can I get tampons by the cubic ton?

    D. You. Are. Awesome.

  11. Ahhh, you are far kinder than I. When my Hubs is sick, I throw a can of chicken noodle soup across the room at him and say, “I’m moving into my sister’s house to drink margaritas by the pool. Eat a bowl of this and call me when you’re done smelling up the bathroom.” This tactic is better than any medicine I could buy–he rebounds really quick now.

  12. Susan Struck says:

    I am coughing and hacking up mucus even as I sit her laughing at your poor husband. I’d like to stay and chat but I’ve got to drag my sick self out of this recliner, wash my germy hands and go cook supper. I think I am doing something wrong.

  13. Does he need you to call him mom for him?

  14. Alison says:

    Mangina – I need to use that on my husband!

  15. Lisa Newlin says:

    I’m glad you use art work. It’s far more productive than my method, which is eye rolls, sarcasm, and lots of vodka. Although I appreciate that your husband is a wuss, and I mean that in the nicest of ways, I suspect your husband is no match for mine.

    Last year, he called me at work with HIS TEETH CHATTERING, telling me he was at home and was dying. (Translation: he had the sniffles.) Interestingly, his teeth stopped chattering when he spoke, which was its own special miracle. He asked me to come home because he was cold. I told him to turn up the thermostat, which was about 15 feet from where he was laying. He said he couldn’t. He was too cold to move. I reminded him that the steaming pile of bullshit he was throwing my way should probably keep him warm until I got home.

    He was FINE the next day.

  16. Pingback: A public apology, good news, marriage humor, and Steubenville… | The Bearded Iris

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