As I lay tossing and turning in bed at 4 this morning, ravaged by this latest bout of masculine influenza, I turned my mind to understanding why we men get hit so much harder than women when afflicted by illness.
And I'll be darned if I didn't crack this mystery of the ages once and for all!
It's pretty simple really. We modern men operate at such a high level these days - seamlessly performing so many roles, so proficiently - that we are reaching, and often exceeding, the physical limits of our bodies.
To use an un-apologetically male-oriented metaphor, we men are like highly tuned sports cars - the Ferrari of the species if you will. Problem is, a mechanical failure in a state of the art engineering masterpiece running at 10,000 RPM is naturally going to be more catastrophic than the same failure in a RAV4 trundling around the Westfield parking lot. The Ferrari is going to need a lot more time in the garage, with a lot of specialist attention.
It's bad enough, seizing up and hitting the wall in top gear, but what really hurts us men is the sanctimonious derision we suffer through. If this same affliction struck women, we would have at least three national charities researching a cure, 'Hikois' demanding government funding and Petra Bagust and Mandy Barker would both have a T-shirt on the shelves.
However, we men stoically do what we do best - we go to the garage and get busy with the business of getting better, please society, just let us be.....
TA*
* it should be noted that Sarah has been very supportive of my recuperative process this week.
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