There is something about men and illness that makes them turn into the biggest weenies in the history of the world. They can lift a 300 pound TV with no help whatsoever, but if they need a tissue, suddenly they turn to mush. Now, I am sure Mark feels icky and has a sniffle or two, but dear lord you would think the plague hit our household. And before you all jump to his defense, please do keep in mind that Will, Jack and I all have the cold too. So, we can all sniffle together.
Now, being a big strong man, Mark won't sit there and say that he feels bad. However, he will sigh and moan and groan more often than Sarah Palin gets stumped by an interview question. And we all know that is a lot. He'll rub his eyes and throw his head back like the Angel of Death is about to take him and he is ready to stop the battle for life. His last breath is about to escape any second, and God forbid he have to get up at night and feed the baby or lay on the couch because Jack Attack fell asleep in the swing downstairs. His guttural noises show that he is far too feeble to be able to perform those functions. Its a miracle he can lift his hand to fast forward through the commercials on his Tivoed Ace of Cakes episode.
Now, Mark, before you comment that I am exaggerating or that you really did feel bad, let me just say this. In the six minutes that I have written this post, you have paced into the office 4 times and sighed three times per lap. I rest my case.