Last night, I had a gig in Revelstoke with two lovely comedians. I had a cold when we left town, and it really decided to blossom into its own snotty monument to sickness by the time we got there. I had a wicked nap then did the show, where being sick made me sweat more than I already do, which is considerable. It’s my special gift.
I went to bed early and started hacking. Then I realized I was wheezing. Then I remembered, “Oh crrrrap, I have asthma.” I’m the worst asthmatic ever. I continually I forget I have it as it almost never bothers me. Hence, I don’t usually have inhalers nearby. I laid in bed trying to use mind control to stop wheezing. I Googled “asthma attack, no inhalers” where I read that caffeine can help, so at 2:00 a.m., I put on a pot of coffee. Then I remembered that my comedy cohort had asthma too. I had already fought with myself in my head for an hour wondering if I should text him to borrow his inhaler. I finally gave in. I hated to wake him, but breathing seemed like a reasonable priority. Like an angel in a white bathrobe, he brought over his inhaler. Oh, sweet relief. Within 15 minutes, I was feeling much better.
I often hold comedian camaraderie close to my heart, and this was another shining example. So, even though I’m home now with a gross cold, I smile when I think of 2:00 a.m. inhaler deliveries.
Love you, but don’t kiss me. I’m gross.