Love in the time of influenza

Let’s face it: times have changed. The honeymoon period that happens to young lovers is a mirage to neurotic 30-somethings. A series of bouts are more the norm than ardent and blind proclamations of love in the first few months of my union with The Boyfriend. I was calmed by one of my wiser friends who promised me, when she hit her first relationship in her 30s, that they would throw down with real and feral ardor. “Fun happens later,” she advised, “when you f-ing get the crazy out.” 

Forget the first trip you will have together, or the first whateversary that comes your way. Nothing brings two “been there, done that” lovers closer together than having a case of the flu together.

After a throwdown-palooza that lasted weeks and which included painfully polite truces, The Boyfriend and I were sentenced to almost two weeks of flu rest. With ginger tea, rock salt and lots of tissue as our only luxuries, we forgot to put our best foot forward and instead indulged in an eccentric macedoine of stories to make the time pass. We were both too zonked to bother with our Blackberries and who was right in whatever. Instead we accidentally fell into a delightful abyss of discovering each other, absent of any pedantic elements that thrive in healthier environments.

It was the best date ever.

As we sniffled and watched TV marathons, The Boyfriend, who is usually very reserved, started letting it all out nicely. No more primly running to the powder room to cough for him. I, on the other hand, wore my Hanes tank tops with my sweats and did not give an eff. I let the Birkins under my eyes bulge out along with my Ferrari-red nose.

Also, just when we thought we couldn’t get any brattier, the sickies can make the brat into an infantile nudnik, which is a helpful tool of seeing the darker side of your better half.

First of all, I’d like to say that The Boyfriend is a nice guy. Seriously, it’s the return of the nice guy. Bad boys are like the harem pants of last season: odd, retro and totally disposable. Listen, when you start to slip off the calendar, you will not have the patience for hot and cold behavior, measured phone calls and sports cars. I can say I’m pretty scary. I won’t waste time listing down my deal breakers and deal makers. As Darwin says, it’s not the smartest or the fittest that survive but those most adaptable to change. In this case, I think all three are required for neurotic me.

So here’s the funny thing. The Boyfriend knew I was a Volvo with 38 safety features. Yet I learned to unfurl my constipated tight-ass ways as I grew to be with him. He never even had to ask. It happened when we were fighting over the last tissue; I tried getting it from him and he told me, “But I’m sicker!” So much for my list, which included mollycoddling my ego. There, in our flu bubble, I realized I would do anything for The Boyfriend. He totally got the tissue and my heart. In the end, among the tissue of tissues, I know he’d ultimately give me the last one. With Boyfriend in utero due to being under the influenza, I learned to be a big picture thinker. I also realized I can be caring. Like, unintentionally caring. I liked knowing that the chiaroscuro image of my heart had been pebbled into an impressionist painting. Jaded no more, I dabbed Kiehl’s lip balm on his war-torn schnoz and kept room temperature Acqua Panna next to him. I forgot about my own illness and just thought of his temperature.  

What happened to me?

Well, he shone through too, by watching the Lifetime movie version of Coco Chanel (the French one sucked; sorry) and actually trying to enjoy it. He also bought me a piglet to cheer me up (a totally ‘90s trend pet), which made me swear off pork for pretty much forever and completely touched me for pretty much forever. Eccentric love: nothing like it.

Then, like everything else, the virus passed and we passed the test. Do we still fight? Hell, yeah. Do I imagine a rectangular moustache on his face and a Swastika on his sleeve when he pisses me off? Yup. But we know we’re in a safe zone.

After being under the influenza, it’s hard to go back.