I'll Feel Better After Some Whine

I have a cold.
That sentance does not encompass the misery that is my life at the moment, nor does it convey the extent to which my cold had taken over my life. It's all I can think about.
I don't even have a particularly bad cold, (not a "man-sized cold", as one of my friends' husband once described his affliction), but much like even bad pizza is pretty good pizza, even a minor cold is a mother of a cold. I HATE having a cold, and I'm making sure everyone knows it.
My head is full of a disgusting amount of yuck, and I swear that is why my bathroom scale hasn't budged in the past few days. (The Tattooed One says that when you are weighing yourself, you have to factor in that your head probably accounts for 8 pounds, so take 8 pound off the what the scale says and you have your actualy weight. That? is some logic I can seriously get behind.)
I am sneezy, and drippy and spewing. (Those are the lesser known dwarves, by the way, the ones deemed to gross to meet Snow White.) I sneeze in increments of three, so it bothers me no end when only two occur, because I know that other one is just waiting until I'm on the phone or in the middle of a traffic light or on my way to the bathroom.
What I'd really like to do is curl up on the couch with my book and a cup of tea and my weight (including my head!) in chocolate. But I have a PTA meeting to attend this evening, and I'm sure my fuzzy, warm, kittenish demeanor will brighten up the proceedings no end.
I will bring my own box of kleenex, and if the meeting goes on too long, I'll start to sneeze, loudly and in increments of three. That should speed things up.