Because they exaggerate their importance, come from a place of underlying weakness, and expect to be doted upon, sneezes are the showy narcissists of protective human reflexes. Sneezes are always met with fawning remarks, such as "Gesundheit!" ("Health!" in German) and of course, "Bless you!" This dynamic is unfair to coughs, which do similar work but are always met with words such as, "Cover your mouth, you sick bastard." 

Gushing over sneezes makes even less sense when you consider that they're usually grosser and always more dangerous to bystanders than coughs. A sneeze can send tens of thousands of bacteria-filled, microscopic droplets into the air at speeds of more than 100 miles per hour. On the other hand, coughs typically deliver around 3,000 droplets at 50 mph. This is a more prudent approach to clearing pollutants from our upper airways and should be recognized. Perhaps we should say "Gute albeit!" ("Good work!" in German) to anyone who coughs. Whatever. It really doesn't matter what we say to coughers, as long as it's in German.

Why all the well wishing to sneezers? The practice started thousands of years ago when they knew that anyone who sneezed was probs gonna die. But even back then, the sneezing part of a cold only lasted a day or two. If you survived that, the coughing phase could go on and on and on, which was irritating to fellow townspeople. Many sick bastards, relieved at having lived through all the sneezing, were clubbed to death because of a nagging cough. 

Discrimination against the cough should not continue because science has shown us the benefits of this healing reflex. But the matter will soon be moot, because the common cold has pretty much been eradicated by people sneezing and coughing into their inner elbows. 

Our Westie dog, Isa, has been limping around, not using her right rear leg. The vet, thinking that Isa may have a torn ACL, put her on bed rest today. "What does that mean exactly?" I asked, "because this dog is a person with no control over her impulses. Just watch what happens when I free associate with her." I turned to Isa. "Reesaronie-onaroo (it's a nickname), I'm going to hold up a flash card with a drawing on it. When I do, please hold up a corresponding image from your pile of cards. Okay. Ready? Here goes." I then held up a drawing of a squirrel.

Isa pawed her cards around on the vet's metal table and picked one up with her teeth. "Let the record show that she's mouthing a photo of people running from a tsunami," I said.

I held up a drawing of a bird.

Isa held up her card -- "Okay," I said. "This is some kind of ring of fire."

Then I showed her a drawing of a dog watching another dog on TV.

Isa held up her card -- "It's a grainy black and white photo of a mushroom cloud."

"Don't you see doc?" I asked. "Isa is a girl who can't be on bed rest. She jumps to the wrong conclusions, and then makes sudden, ungovernable and aggressive movements.  She's happy to go about all this with just the three legs."

"Keep her in a small space, carry her outside to do her business and put her on a leash once she's out in the yard," the vet said. "Give me a call after four weeks and we'll see how her knee is doing."

On the way home, I tried to talk to Isa. "Mrs. Muroney (another nickname), first off, you're a low dog and I never knew you had knees, so that's cool. Beyond that, I hope you heard what the doctor said. You're on bed rest now, for a month. I'm worried that you aren't going to get better if you keep flying off the handle."

"It's just hard for me to take four weeks off of my work detail," she said, "especially in autumn, when falling leaves could result in severe head lacerations. And you, Missy, with no alerts, could wind up in the freakin' hospital. But I'll do it to avoid surgery. I'm just gonna need you to fill in for me while I'm sidelined."

"Just give me a list," I said.

LIST

• the no fly zone around our house - bark like hell at any bird who enters it - don't worry i marked it all off
• rabbit pellet poop in the backyard - eat it and keep eating it until someone sees what you're doing
• the chipmunk who lives under the stone step at the back door - kill that crazy mo fo
• a wet suit hanging in the outdoor shower - i guess just keep your eye on that situation - the same goes for clouds
• when dad's home - follow him around the house with your concerned face on
• you know the drill on squirrels

Happier Days

"Get out of the tub, woman. We've got a situation."

Gifted and Talented Programs in elementary schools started in the upheaval and experimentation of the 1970s, and were then known as G & T Clubs.  Teachers, weary of overseeing kids with scraggly hair, sunburns, lawn dart injuries, fractured skulls and jean-made pants would meet for gin and tonics in a special room (the teachers' lounge) after pulling the smart kids out of class and dropping them off at the library for independent reading. 

Then, during the 1980's a national commission cited G & T Clubs as an example of how the quality of American schools had eroded. A quick-thinking representative of the American Federation of Teachers stated that it was all a misunderstanding -- and that the G stood for Gifted and the T stood for Talented. "Shit happens," said the commission, as people were wont to say back then, and the matter was dropped. Legitimate Gifted and Talented Programs were then put into place.

But problems persist, especially with the name of the program, which as we now know, was hastily thrown together. Calling the kids gifted and talented is off-putting and harmful to the children who are more dumb. Also, the words Gifted and Talented are redundant, which is poor writing, and hence not at all representative of these kids who are supposed to be able to string a good sentence together.

Here are some thoughts on how schools could address this issue: 

1. Change the name to Gifted and Talented: Academics, and rename all the clubs and sports teams in the same way. For example, the softball team would become Gifted and Talented: Softball. This tactic has worked extremely well for the producers of NCIS. 

2. Drop the word Gifted, which makes one feel as though these anointed kids wake up and eat frankincense and myrrh for breakfast (for those of you who don't know about frankincense and myrrh, it's what the wise men brought for baby Jesus to eat in the manger).

3. Keep the word Talented but put it in perspective for school kids by calling the group Born Lucky and Talented (BLT). This aw-shucks approach is more palatable to outsiders and it gives a wink to the original program from the 70's, which was named after something that tastes real good.

I've got a cold that has blown through me like it's a hurricane and I'm the Wait For It trailer park, just south of town. People give names to hurricanes, so I'm calling my cold Gus, which is short for Gusto and also Disgusting. Normally, I wouldn't gripe about my condition because really, who cares about someone else's cold? But Gus has been anything but common.

It's Wednesday morning now, and though I'm feeling a little bit so ravaged, I'm clearly on the upswing. Wasn't it just Monday morning, just two days ago, when I felt that little ahem-tickle in my throat? "Wait, am I getting a cold?" I asked myself. And then it happened -- that "Sixth Sense" moment when I realized I was already dead.  

By Monday afternoon, my throat was a sexual, free-for-all fire-pit for the lusty virus reproducing in my cells. Knowing that this was a real sin, my immune system released hordes of mucus nuns to fight the evil virus by entrapping it, and then making everyone involved feel dirty.

My usual cold remedies: Airborne, Motrin, Tootsie Pops and Hot Toddies* were ineffectual, so that night I sent my husband on a guest room sleep-away from my germs. Then I lay awake in our bed with unearthly pressure in my head. At one low point, I wanted to wake him and cry about my misery. But that would have been ridiculous overkill, like the people who phoned 911 when they got lost in a corn maze.

Yesterday, Tuesday, was a blur. Did the Terminix Man come while I was watching Bob's Burgers? That may or may not have happened. All I know is that at about 7 pm, Bo came home with Werthers Original candy, Cepacol extra strength cough drops and Mucinex (both day and nighttime formulas). He had been asking around about cold remedies at work and put this combination together to surprise me. It worked and I slept through the night.

Right now I'm feeling good and I'm hoping that Gus stopped here. If not, I hope that no one can trace his awfulness back to me, as cold tracing is something that we're all wont to do. 

The Team

*Hot Toddy Recipe:
 Some Tea
 Some Agave Nectar
 Some Lemon Juice
 Some Goslings Dark Rum

Lisa Taylor is my beautiful, brilliant, saucy, snapdragon demigoddess friend who just turned flompty-three. Since demigoddesses are both divine and earthly beings, the best way to honor one on her birthday is to sculpt her likeness out of produce. Then, go ahead and invite some friends over to eat her in effigy. 

You don't have to be super artistic like I am to build vegetable models of your loved ones for their birthdays. If you do take a stab at it, I'd say hair is the most important feature to replicate because it’s such a defining physical aspect of a person. Since Lisa is a sable-maned enchantress, whole black olives were perfect for her hair (note: I used sliced olives around the edges of the bowl to depict the alluring looseness of her curls).

Another recommendation: Study a photo of your subject to match your veggie dip to her skin tone. Lisa's ancestors are Lebanese, so I went with Annie's Tahini Goddess Salad Dressing™ because it captures her tawny Mediterranean radiance.

If you find that your guests aren’t eating your artwork because they don't want to destroy it, remind them that vegetable platter art is always meant to be temporary, like sand castles and ice sculptures. If that doesn’t work, get huffy and say, “Okay, well I'm not bringing out the steak tips till that thing is gone.” Then stand back and watch your get together become a Donner Party.