Why sneezing is just no fun at all anymore.

The first night after the roller coaster incident, I did what I always do when I am nervous that there is something wrong.

I went straight to a google search.

And boy they weren't kidding about one thing: It hurts like a sonofagun to sneeze with a cracked rib.

I was in the ladies locker room at the Y and don't worry, I was doing a modified workout. A very slow climb on the elliptical machine and some good old fashioned, doesn't-involve-the-ribs leg work.

But anyway.

While in the locker room, I felt it coming on and remembered about the warnings I had read on the web a second too late. See, generally I relish a good sneeze. The second after a sneeze must be the way sinuses were before the fall of man, just as God intended. It's a clear and invigorating breath with no hinderances whatsoever. Perfection, really.

But all that changes with a cracked rib.

The sneeze came out accompanied by a sharp pain and a heaving protest from within. And though I tried to strangle it mid-entrance, I only managed to make a loud whelping sound and startle every innocent bystander in the locker room.

I sounded like a goat or something.

In fact, those who only heard it and did not actually see it probably rolled their eyes in disdain and wondered to themselves why management puts up signs that say PLEASE NO GOATS IN THE LOCKER ROOM only to have selfish patrons ignore it altogether.

Thankfully I only have a cracked rib right now and not a cracked rib and a cold, so that sneeze was a singular event.

A cold on top of my state of being at the moment would be a one-two punch that would be hard to sustain, I think.