Rule 10: We all suffer at least one diseased admirer.
i got kisses and romantic treats from my last boyfriend, but since i switched to tb guys, all we exchange is bacteria.
at first i resisted. as you would. if there was herd of tb victims crouched outside YOUR front door. but it is futile to resist them. you know they're there. you can hear them coughing in the bushes ALL NITE.
oh juliet, if romeo had been cursed with tb, would you have loved him so? would you have left him wheezing and sputtering beneath your balcony and drawn a hot bath instead?
all nite they cough, sneeze and sputter. they try and make the coughing romantic. they try to cough the lyrics to stevie wonder songs, and strangled compliments.
it goes a little something like this: ughghhghkoffoffkoffff-beautiffoffkoffkoff. and so on, with other drowned phrases like 'silky hair, shiny skin, smell nice, and healthy lungs.' --at least that is what i think they're saying.
eventually i could keep my distance no longer. i invited the sickest, louis, in for tea. i let him blow his nose and offload his bacteria onto my couch.
that was both the end and the beginning of my tb love affair.
first there was one, now there are nineteen.
we do everything together.
sometimes i wonder how i ever lived without them because i am never without them. our lungs rattle together in the pub; together we double over in the cheese aisle in tesco, gasping desperately for breath. i had to stop biking to work because they insisted on following me on foot. it took two ambulances to pull them all out of the canal after they fainted two blocks along.
i'm not strong enough anymore to cycle myself. in fact, i cant remember the last time the tb mob left my bedroom. here we sit, swathed in wool scarfs, menthol rub on our chests, making phlegm sculptures. we dare each other to take a deep breath and laugh about the good old days when the bushes were leafy and the nights outside my window were long.
at first i resisted. as you would. if there was herd of tb victims crouched outside YOUR front door. but it is futile to resist them. you know they're there. you can hear them coughing in the bushes ALL NITE.
oh juliet, if romeo had been cursed with tb, would you have loved him so? would you have left him wheezing and sputtering beneath your balcony and drawn a hot bath instead?
all nite they cough, sneeze and sputter. they try and make the coughing romantic. they try to cough the lyrics to stevie wonder songs, and strangled compliments.
it goes a little something like this: ughghhghkoffoffkoffff-beautiffoffkoffkoff. and so on, with other drowned phrases like 'silky hair, shiny skin, smell nice, and healthy lungs.' --at least that is what i think they're saying.
eventually i could keep my distance no longer. i invited the sickest, louis, in for tea. i let him blow his nose and offload his bacteria onto my couch.
that was both the end and the beginning of my tb love affair.
first there was one, now there are nineteen.
we do everything together.
sometimes i wonder how i ever lived without them because i am never without them. our lungs rattle together in the pub; together we double over in the cheese aisle in tesco, gasping desperately for breath. i had to stop biking to work because they insisted on following me on foot. it took two ambulances to pull them all out of the canal after they fainted two blocks along.
i'm not strong enough anymore to cycle myself. in fact, i cant remember the last time the tb mob left my bedroom. here we sit, swathed in wool scarfs, menthol rub on our chests, making phlegm sculptures. we dare each other to take a deep breath and laugh about the good old days when the bushes were leafy and the nights outside my window were long.
posted by Camille at 2:46 pm
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