It is the truth. We're far more advanced then men and their on/off (ahem) stick...
Before I continue, I need to point out that these observations are all my own and are based on the numerous men I have lived with over the years. I mean that in a much less slutty way than it sounds. The only reason I'm making this disclaimer is in the event that ML ever does decide to read this blog he won't think I'm talking completely about him and do horrible things to me while I'm sleeping. Or knocked unconscious.
Anyway, what I'm talking about is the difference between how men behave when they are sick and how women behave when they sick.
Frankly, men are kinda pussies about it.
I've seen the manliest men, the kind who probably could take a hockey puck to the nuts and laugh about it, completely lose their mind over the common cold. I'm talking about throwing a pity party the size of a royal wedding, complete with whining, moaning and even possibly an abridged Last Will & Testament scrawled onto a tissue with the remaining dregs of the Robitussin bottle because, you know, they're totally going to die from having a cold.
Someone needs to stop the Earth from turning!! Can't you see I'm sick???
A guy has a fever and the next thing you know, he's asking you to rub his feet, his belly, spoon feed him NyQuil and sit with his diseased ass for hours on end in case he needs the volume of the television adjusted, or there is a scratch on his ear that he is too feeble to itch.
Needless to say, Jenny don't play that. First of all, you have a stuffy nose? Wah. I've had a stuffy nose since I was five fucking years old, buddy, because thanks to my questionably inferior genetics, I'm allergic to everything. If I had a family crest it would be a glass of wine, a laptop and goddamned pile of used tissues. I would be richer than Bill Gates is I could use snot as a commodity so you can stare at me with those swollen little puppy dog eyes all you want. Blow your nose and nut the fuck up, bronco.
The laptop and wine are on top of the desk.
Here's the thing: when a dude first gets sick, I actually try to muster up a small iota of sympathy. But after two days or so it occurs to me that the only treatment I got the last time I was sick was a request to pick up some beer on my way home from the drugstore or the phrase that I am sure has ended a man's life somewhere, sometime:
"I'd hug you/get your medicine for you/sit with you/fill in the blank but I don't want to get sick."
If there are any men reading this and you've uttered some variation of that sentence, I can guarantee you that your woman, despite being wracked with illness, immediately made it her life goal to pass it on to you. The moment you left the room or house, she was busily rubbing her snot encrusted nose all over your clothes and pillows.
It's hard to think through a 103 degree fever, but she's coming up with a diabolical plan to fuck with him. Hard.
As vindicating as this action may be, it will inevitably backfire on the person with the vagina. Because if she succeeds, the man will get sick. And she will have to take care of him and rub Vicks on his chest.
It's just a vicious cycle.