Here's my psuedo-profound observation for today:
The common cold is a mocker.
It will hold back your gustiest five-star sneezes until it catches you venturing just past lunging range of the tissue box. It will most especially relish reducing you to this graceless spectacle right after you've spent three weeks endlessly haranguing your 8 year old son to "Use a Kleenex, for cryin' out loud!" (You know, so you wouldn't catch his juicy, jet-propelled germs. Which you did. Obviously.)
It knows how to make everything in your closet look like the scorned refuse from What Not To Wear.
It will mock you for thinking you could still attain some measure of coolness by the usual trick of whipping out your superfly glamour shades, as it now merely assists them in the cruel and wicked accentuation of your big, red, raw, bulbous, honking nose.
But most notably, I observe that no matter who you are, a cold still makes you feel like a moron.
A drippy, gross, slothful, disturbing, socially unacceptable and hopelessly inelegant moron.