Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold by J.L. Salter Read Free Book Online Page A

hog-calling contest at the state fair.” She hadn’t remained very long, however.
    “Yeah, but that usually ends at some point. Presumably, the hog eventually shows up. But whoever this lady’s calling… he ain’t coming. Not ever.”
    “You get used to it after a while. I hardly notice any more unless I’m outside, or if my windows are open.”
    He looked back toward the bathroom door. “Uh, Amanda, I think your hall toilet is busted or something.”
    “What do you mean, busted?”
    “Jammed somehow. Couldn’t get the seat up.”
    “Just sit down to pee.”
    “Sit? Aw, no. The perspective is all wrong. Besides, I wouldn’t have anything to do with my hands.” He wiggled his fingers.
    “Take up knitting.”
    “Very funny. It’s like shooting a gun. You’ve got elevation and windage to consider.”
    Amanda didn’t even look up. “Encounter a lot of cross-breeze, do you?”
    “Har har. You know what I mean.”
    “So you’re not one of those guys who unzips and stands there with both hands on his hips and just lets it fly?”
    “Huh? Oh. I’ve seen a couple of guys do that. But it’s pretty rare. Besides, I think they’re just showing off. Most of us need some directional guidance.” Jason paused. “So, where did you see a guy whiz like that? You didn’t grow up with brothers.”
    Amanda chuckled. “Can’t remember. Maybe it was a joke I heard. Or, no, it might have been a scene in a movie.”
    “Hmm. It’s a little weird for females to be that familiar with a man’s whiz positioning.”
    “I’m a student of human nature. Sue me.”
    “Well, anyhow, your hall toilet. Seriously. Seat’s jammed.” He pointed toward the bathroom again.
    “Okay, out of service — seat’s down in a fixed, locked position.” She folded her arms.
    “Never seen a toilet seat hinge freeze up like that. You got any WD-40?”
    “It’s not frozen.” Amanda sighed heavily and paused before explaining. “It’s glued down.”
    “How come? The hinge broke off?”
    Although tempted to go with that serendipitous explanation, Amanda was supposed to stick with the scripted cover story. “Interestingly, Christine did some research and found that male disorientation increases dramatically — up to 65 per cent higher in your age group — when congestion flirts with the inner ear and the patient has half a degree of fever. If you got zoinked suddenly with vertigo, you’d keel over like a scared possum. Some guys spend several hours curled up on the grungy bathroom floor before anybody even discovers them.” She had embellished the script. “Plus, it affects things like balance, focus, and aim.”
    “Where does Christine get all these studies? I’ve never heard of this crud.”
    “You should read more.” She waggled her forefinger. “Anyway, I don’t want to put down a drop cloth just to protect my floor and walls from all that collateral splatter. Plus, it’s a health issue: your urine currently has acidic virus molecules which contaminate the bathroom’s oxygen. You breathe in that toxic mixture in such a small space and you’ll drop like a fly.”
    “Hmm.” He scratched the back of his head.
    Amanda scrutinized his face and could tell some brain event had just occurred. “In case you have the misguided assumption you can completely avoid hitting the seat and you intend to use that toilet while standing, I’ve got two words for you.”
    Jason likely imagined two words spoken by some crude team buddies.
    “Antibacterial wipes.” Amanda reached under the counter for a plastic container. “After every single incident, you’d have to wipe down the seat.” She knew no man would actually expend effort on any task related to household cleaning if there was any other option at all. In this case, the option was to urinate from a seated position. “If I find one drop on that seat, I’m getting out a noose.”
    Jason possibly wondered which part of his body would be noosed.
    “Understand?”
    He