The Seven Years of the Married Cold
First year of marriage: “Sugar dumpling, I’m really worried about my baby girl. You’ve got a bad sniffle and there’s no telling about these things with all the strep going around. I’m putting you in the hospital this afternoon for a general checkup and a good rest. I know the food’s lousy but I’ll be bringing your meals in from Rozzini’s. I already have it all arranged with the floor superintendent.”
Second year: “Listen darling, I don’t like the sound of that cough. I’ve called Doc Miller to rush over here. Now you go to bed like a good girl, just for Poppa.”
Third year: “Maybe you had better lie down, honey. Nothing like a little rest when you feel lousy. I’ll bring you some soup.”
Fourth year: “Now look, dear, be sensible. After you’ve fed the kids, and done the dishes, and washed the floor, you better lie down.”
Fifth year: “Why don’t you take a couple aspirin?”
Sixth year: “I wish you’d just gargle or something instead of sitting around barking like a seal all evening.”
Seventh year: “For Pete’s sake, stop sneezing! Are you trying to give me pneumonia?”