If you’ve ever seen television (and I know, because I almost never watch, but wait — I’m getting ahead of myself), then you have seen this stupid monkey with better fashion sense than I have on my best days. You know the one. The orangutan with
the Slytherin scarf? (Seriously, first hint there, guys.) This stupid monkey would have you believe that getting cough relief is simple. This monkey makes you think that you can just go to Robitussin, click a few buttons and then they’ll give you a moron proof code for Your Perfect Cough & Cold Relief™.
This monkey is a lying sack of fuzz.
I have had a cough since last Sunday and lost my voice (much to the relief of many around me, all of whom are welcome to go eat a shoe) on Tuesday. Then the REAL coughing began. This came after about 3 weeks of not sleeping because fun fact about me, I happen to be crazier than a whole box of squirrels with chicken pox.
Anyway, I couldn’t sleep — again — because sleeping would let the mucus demons settle just enough and they’d get cranky and decide to rip my chest open just to make things more interesting. (NB: This version of the story could have something to do with my hitting the NyQuil pretty heavily at this point.)
Anyway, NyQuil wasn’t helping. Delsym promised 12 whole hours of relief. Delsym lied to me AND tasted like slightly sweetened butt, grilled over a raging butt fire, sprinkled with freshly plucked BUTT. It was insult, injury AND NO COUGH RELIEF WHATSOEVER rolled into one. I’m a bit bitter. I hope one day with therapy that I’ll move past it, but the outlook is not good (I asked my magic 8 ball; I call him Keith).
So two strikes so far. Then I decide I’ll believe the freaking monkey even though I know enough about pharmacology to know that the only difference between Delsym and Robitussin DM (the one the monkey said I needed) was guafenesin. Basically, the D part is supposed to make you hork less, but the M part (guafenesin) is supposed to make the times you hork useful. (Also, spell check believes that instead of guafenesin, I mean “deafening.” Draw your own conclusions there.)
Not only did it not stop my horking, I now had overdried sinuses, so the horking was all dry and non-productive and yes I’m writing a paragraph about snot, but I’m done now. Go on to the next one.
So, miserable and convinced that I would die of the lamest chest cold ever — though if I could convince people it was mucous demons, at least my obit would be interesting — I did what any sane human does when all of one’s arsenal of non-professional knowledge has failed her. I called and croaked at my grandmother.
Granny fixed me up, all right. Her instructions were, “Sip it if you can. If you can’t stand it, drink it hot; you won’t taste it.” These words terrified me. I didn’t ask what was in it because I was almost sure it was better not to know. But that night, I took a swig, gagged — and didn’t cough. MY GRANDMOTHER WAS A GENIUS! She’d invented a cure for the EVERYTHING. It tasted like donkey butts, but it was WORKING. …and I was a little dizzy.
That’s when I called and croaked at Granny to find out what was in this genius blend.
She told me: 1/3 lemon juice, 1/3 honey & 1/3 whiskey. Yup. My granny had cured me with a bottle hot tottie.
Still, the cough isn’t entirely gone yet, but… I don’t really care much. (hic)