WHILE LOOKING at a coffin, I had a coughing fit. Why was I looking at coffins in the first place? You see, I have a friend who’s my age, but who is morbidly obsessed with planning his funeral before he dies. He was even lying in the coffin he finally chose, asking: “Does this fit?” Well, reader, I don’t even know if his jeans fit perfectly, but here he was, asking me if a coffin “fit” him.
Have you ever thought about planning your funeral? I think it takes a special breed of person – a particular personality type – who would go to the extent of such rigid organisation. Personally, not even grocery shopping appeals to me, so I won’t be in a coffin-picking state of mind anytime soon. But this flu. Virus. Cold. Whatever it is that I contracted over the last week, this “thing” has me feel like death for days.
The last thing I remember doing that may have brought on this illness was reading Al Gilkes’ column. The old man was talking about being sick. About half-hour after reading his article, I began to feel unwell. I began to feel like a hundred and change. Dry, itchy throat. Sore neck. Watery eyes. It was almost like looking at a Lifetime movie with my mother. She has the propensity to sit for three hours straight, same position, no water break, nothing.
Anyway, I think the cough syrup I’m taking is making me hallucinate, too. Reader, don’t pray to get this flu, hear? Wash your hands after you finish reading this column today. Take all precautions. This thing is no joking matter. My palate is dry and I can’t even smell the paint on my palette. “Dry mouth” is one of the side effects of this cough syrup and it is the worst feeling ever.
In the hope of ridding the dryness on my tongue, I got a BICO lolly. It was like licking an icy piece of coral stone. No pleasure at all, at all, except for the lolly man who now has my dollar and twenty-five cents. But back to the hallucination. Later, as I was looking at the street lights, trying to paint the midnight blue-type setting, I saw a naked fella, hanging from the lamp post.
I blinked twice and he was still there. I called my friend Cheryl, since she is the expert on naked men. She answered in a sleepy voice; and I told her to look outside. She confirmed that the only nude hombre she saw was the one next to her, in bed, snoring. I resigned myself to the fact that there was no man hanging from the post; and retired to bed.
So, I’m trying not to cough for fear that I will be forced to imbibe more syrup-medicine. You see, I wouldn’t mind if I look at the lamp post tonight and see a hanging Hoadie; but what I saw a few days ago was more like a jilted Gilkes!
Veoma Ali is an author, broadcaster, advertising exec and, most important, a karaoke lover.
