It makes its ominous presence known with a few subtle hints at first, but then it picks up momentum. 

Before you know it, you’re completely miserable and have lost the will to live. No, it’s not the 2020 presidential election cycle; it’s the annual cold.

It hate the annual cold, and I really thought this year I’d get lucky and not have it. Last year my bronchitis lasted from December to June. 

“You should go see a doctor,” said everyone. 

Um, ya think?

I saw the doctor so many times last year, the insurance company was calling my wife to ask if she wanted to put me down.

Every doctor tells you the same thing. 

“If it’s bacterial, we can prescribe antibiotics to make it go away, but if it’s viral, there is nothing we can do.”

Thanks, but I did happen to pass 10th grade biology. I know the difference between a virus and bacteria. 

Shockingly being reminded of this difference doesn’t actually help you feel better. Neither does paying the co-pay. 

To the doctors’ credit, the antibiotics also didn’t seem to stop the constant hacking either. It was so bad for so long; people around me were beginning to think that I had taken up smoking … in the seventh grade.

So this year if I wind up going to the doctor, I’m just going to demand all of the antibiotics, and anything else they can prescribe that might help including Lipitor, Cocaine, Viagra or even intense beating with a bamboo stick by a pro wrestler. I don’t care. I just don’t want to spend the next several months of my life feeling like my body would be rejected if I donated it to science, or for that matter, Deseret Industries. 

However, where western medicine ends, insanity begins. I was told to take hot baths, drink lots of fluid that wasn’t Mountain Dew and eat organic herbs harvested by Chilean children. None of that stuff helped either. In fact only one thing helped — cherry flavored NyQuil. 

Of course it doesn’t help you during the day, but at night, as soon as I knew I was done driving, operating heavy equipment or interacting with other humans, I took a shot of that magical stuff. 

Within minutes my nose was clear, my throat had stopped hurting and I was even in a better mood. Not that I ever got to enjoy my freedom from the symptoms, as two minutes later I was in a coma. It was wonderful. 

NyQuil is like 25 percent alcohol, and it solved all of my problems. Is this why people drink?

Except just like real drinking, there are side effects the next morning. First off, all the congestion returns. It’s like the characters from “The Lego Movie” come to life in my house and shoved four Lego city blocks up my nose. 

Then there’s the lethargy. It’s so hard to get out of bed with a NyQuil hangover. Then once you finally get out and stumble around for a minute or two, you pretty quickly find yourself back on the bed, even though work started 10 minutes ago.

The experience did open my eyes to one possibility. I think my dog may be an alcoholic. 

The Chihuahua spends 98 percent of his daylight hours in bed, starts running around and being playful at 10 p.m. and he is also unemployed.

Now Taquito the dog is not 21 years old, in people years, so if you’re supplying him booze, please stop. It’s not good for him.

Besides I don’t think he has a cold, and even if he does, it’s still better than having to endure another presidential election.

Follow David Anderson on 

Twitter at twitter.com/cruizerdave

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