I don’t expect there to be a flurry of sympathetic wives rushing to my side on this one. The Man Cold is a devastating affliction that only other men seem to be able to appreciate. One of the particularly surprising side effects is a complete lack of any kind of empathy or sympathy from your partner during a Man Cold. It’s as if one of the warnings that comes with it is “Side effects may include headache, runny nose, sore throat, sudden death, constipation, diarrhea and strange and unnecessary taunting from your supposed loved ones”.
It’s not all bad though. The taunting merely conceals a very loving interior that wants nothing more than to pamper the afflicted one with back rubs, foot rubs, tea and toast in bed as well as a plethora of other luxuries that include, but are not limited to, a meal of your choice, the green light to watch all the war films you can cram into a 24hr period and licence to play Pink Floyd at full volume. If you’re really lucky, they’ll even throw in the appearance that they actually like Pink Floyd.
As with regular “run-of-the-mill” colds, there is no cure for The Man Cold. You simply have to ride it out, or as this device would have you believe, force it out. I know what you’re all thinking: “What kind of base retail outlet were you in to even be exposed to such a ferocious looking device that is no doubt being marketed as something to deliver pleasure but merely inspires fear and trepidation to all who see it?” I have to admit, a cold shudder went down my spine as I gazed upon the devilish device they were calling the “Zipfy Freestyle Mini Luge“.
Even the name did not clarify much. Thankfully there was a picture of someone riding the gadget, fully clothed I might add, and they did not appear to be in any undue discomfort, which I attributed to the fact that they were grasping the “handle” with both hands as opposed to balancing on it whilst in a state of undress. The fact that the individual in the picture also appeared to be hurtling headlong down a hill gave me some solace: may be this was not a den of inequity that I had haplessly walked into, quite innocently I might add.
I was further reassured that I had not sleep-walked into a seedy adult entertainment shop when I saw my friend Mick Jaffrey (name changed to protect the innocent) wander up to say hello to us. Having moved on from the offending toboggan I was not able to question him as to the link between fine books and the decidedly phallic appearance of the luge, but needless to say I wonder what the employee in the back office was thinking when he, or perhaps she?, decided that this would be a suitable addition for the retail shelves of the biggest book store in Canada. I don’t suppose that I shall ever know, but Mick, should you ever find out, you know how to get in touch with me.