When a man is sick, his woman needs to rebuild her life radically and forever. Okay, not forever, but at least for a whole week (or how much does flu lasts?). Actually, the main rule here is one thing: make a sorrowful face without five minutes of widow and not laugh too loud. But it is difficult because men are sick about this:
Potache please. Pronounced in a weak voice, as, however, any other phrase. He has a temperature, and you have a hairdryer. And vacuum cleaner. And mixer. And washing machine. In the past life, you were Thomazo Torquemead or the Unnamed Chinese Master of Bloody Affairs, who composed to torture the lack of sleep and peace. Can I have a sandbody? This is perhaps the last sandbody in his life, so you have to try. Pitch? No, he doesn't want to say, put the sandbroke here and do not bother here, I have a tank column on the right flank. Corre your pad. Just carefully, I'm so fragile. Turn on the sports channel. This is the only thing that helps it should be heated. You need to fall asleep under the sports channel, wake up for a sports channel, and then fall asleep again (yes, under the sports channel). A clear observance of this cycle gives a small chance that I still get better and again I will see the sun. "38.5". He writes in Facebook. And the next three days with the sad and slightly removed from this sinful peace with a smile Laikat: "Get straight, bro!" And "hold on, everything will be fine!". Take sex with me. Who said that I have an ebol? I said? Well, okay, it's still doing, Ebola is almost no indigestion, honest word. Where are you going? What work, what shop, what parents?! Do not think even. Suddenly something happens, I myself will not call an ambulance, and then you will call yourself all my life. I can't allow it to happen, sit at home. And bring another sandbroke. I dont know. Universal response to any question of the universe. Want a seagull? I dont know. Maybe milk to warm up? I dont know. Well, who knows? Yes, I do not know, who knows, unfarting. Ask clarifying questions to a sick man is meaningless and cruel. Imperatives will be the right choice: bring milk and order: "Pey". And not pay attention to the mute reproach in doomed eyes. I am a monument to myself ... As if the man says, putting on the sofa in the living room. The crucible woman is usually clogged into the corner and tries to cough hide, in order not to disturb others. Men are sick with taste, and with alignment. They fall in the center of the room, loudly sneeze 12 times, telling the neighbors about the occurrence of noon, and throw the space around them with paper handkerchiefs so that it was beautiful, like a Christmas tree and confetti. I do not want. In principle, he does not want anything. But medicines are especially. Medicines man will use, only seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. That is, at the end of the disease and making a very big favor. Fortunately, medications for men act very well - by the time you get sick from him, he will successfully dismissed the service.