The Genesis of Phlegm Girl (And My Efforts in Vain to Resist Her)

I stared at the picture of a tranquil, contaminant-free waterfall on the back of the anachronistically-desiged box, promising a similarly cool, clear and most of all germ-free throat upon application of the product inside.

But why, oh why, Mr Severely-Side-Parted Hair, do I still remain a mutant strain of our species (known in some parts as the Hacking Sapien)?

Well-meaning friends and relatives have recommended a number of home remedies, ranging from the humble (salt dissolved in water), HK-celeb endorsed (Pi Pa Gao, once again, dissolved in water), fanciful (an egg cracked over a mug of rock sugar - you guessed it - dissolved in water) as well as unlikely (freshly-squeezed orange juice with a pinch of salt). Of the four I've tried two. And of the two, I've prepared one, because I'm so lazy.

So when dusk falls, I morph into Phlegm* Girl, awakened by the dip in temperatures (so The Boyfriend says) as well as the appearance of the moon (full, waxing, waning, new, the works). Her personality threatening to take over mine with every cough, spit and tickle in the throat, I haven't had the chance to rest until during the deadest hours of the night. Which basically just means I'm not getting the rest I need, dammit.

*Bizarrely enough, phlegm also means both "sluggishness of temperament" and "calm self-possession". How the English language never fails to amaze and amuse (sometimes simultaneously).