That Nasty Brew

We are living in an age where it is possible to clone human beings and regrow hands with magic science powder. We are obviously living in the future. So how is it possible that cough syrup tastes just as awful as it did when I was a kid? It makes me gag. It makes me shiver. It makes my right eye close up. It tastes like alcohol and sugar and rubber and gasoline. I would rather be sick for a few days than swallow a spoonful of NyQuil.  I would rather have a sore throat and a cough. I would rather suffer in silence and complain out loud than drink that nasty brew.

Rodrigo however, does not agree. He stares at me as I argue and whine and present really well thought out arguments as to why I don’t need the medicine. He stands next to me patiently, cough syrup in one hand, spoon in the other, as I lie right to his face and promise to take it later. He smiles at me and pours the syrup. I threaten him. I look at him through squinty eyes and a wrinkled brow. I tell him the only reason I am taking it is for him. He hands me the spoon. I take the medicine.

I gag and I shiver and my right eye closes a little bit. I run to the kitchen and stuff my mouth with blueberries and cheese and I drink Gatorade. Everything tastes like cough syrup. I glare at Rodrigo and tell him he just likes to see me suffer. “How does your throat feel now?” he asks.

Dammit! It feels better.

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