How sick is sick?

Okay, I'll admit it. I have an exaggerated sense of responsibility.

It's pretty inconceivable that I wouldn't deliver on a project or meet a deadline. So I get a little chuffed when others don't do the same. Coming to work sick actually soothes my inner martyr.

So I know that I'm judgemental when it comes to other people's sick days. Especially -- and this is where judgement raises her head again -- when it comes to boys taking sick days off.

I could have both legs amputated below the knee, a little touch of the Ebola and the beginnings of stigmata, and still roll into the kitchen to rustle of a passable Bolognese sauce.

Not so for the majority of guys who work in my department.

Now we're not talking Ultimate Fighting Hero type of guys...we're talking about Art Director guys. Guys who spend their days making things pretty. Guys who read Applied Arts. Guys who love all things Helvetica. Guys who well up when they see a picture of a sad looking kitten in a box.

These guys -- see above -- are also prone to drama worthy of a spot on 42nd Street when the smallest amount of ill health creeps into their daily existence.

Nasal drip becomes typhus. A dry cough requires an iron lung. A flu virus requires a doctor's note and a week off work.

Gloria Steinem said, "If men got their period, it would be a national holiday."

Anyway, there's a national holiday in our department today. Wave your sanitizer.