Guzuntight

So I have a co-worker who has got this sneeze.

No, really.

A serious one.

Each time she sneezes,

It sounds something like the fateful meeting of a raccoon and a freight train.

(Another co-worker takes roll after each sneeze to ensure that everyone is still with us.)

And each time she sneezes,

I think of my mom.

Who also has got a serious sneeze.

Although hers doesn’t sound quite as traumatic.

It’s more like the double shot:

She says “achoo” before the actual sneezing begins.

And then the punch,

That sounds kind of like she sneezed out a portion of her gray matter.

Sometimes I get concerned.

But she’s survived 50+ years of such expulsions of dust—or whatever—and no aneurism or the like as of yet.

Each time my co-worker sneezes,

I think of my dad.

Who, as I am told by my mom,

Early in their marriage said something to the effect of,

“How do you feel about sneezing more petitely?”

My mom is actually a very feminine and petite woman.

And so she tried.

And just about blew out her eardrums.

And so it went.

But, with the good old seasoning of time and love,

Those sneezes became

Endearing.

Now,

When my mom sneezes,

My dad smiles,

And says,

“Salud!”

Maybe

“Dinero!”

And often

“Amor!”

(Depending on the length of the series.)

And I know he loves her,

Dramatic dust expulsions, and all.

And so each time my co-worker sneezes,

I think of true romance.

And feel pretty lucky to have a great example of one.