Coughing fit turns to alcoholism

It's about 5 in the morning. It's quiet. It's peaceful. It's cold out, yet warm and cozy inside. The cool air meets the warm glass and forms condensation and the slightest bit of frost on the windows as silence and serenity fills the air outside. Inside everybody is asleep. Except me. I've been tossing and turning all night due to congestion and pain, and thus, failure to find comfort in which to fall asleep. Suddenly, I break the silence by going into a mad fit of coughing. Hacking and wheezing, I spit up a mouthful of phlegm. Tissues fill my trash can to the brim. I have been blowing my nose about every twenty seconds for the past five hours. I honk into a tissue a few more times, for good measure, and lie down again in yet another attempt to fall asleep.
In five minutes, I begin to start coughing again, wondering what it is that is causing this. I pull out my Nalgene(r) bottle from the refrigerator and douse my throat with cool water. Thinking I have solved the problem, I lie back down again and begin to drift away, only to find the water proved fruitless. The next bit of coughing forces me to sit up, which eventually leads me to get up. I took a short trip to the bathroom, thinking about how I didn't have any cough syrup or any similar cold medicine. Then, an idea hit me. What I did have plenty of was whisky; smooth, pure, 10-year-aged Johnny Walker Black Label Scotch Whisky.
My relatives always told us kids stories of how my great-grandmother had had a shot of whisky before she went to bed every night, and I wondered if this was my hereditary instincts taking flight. My parents have never really been big drinkers, but I knew, coming from German descent, alcohol was in my blood. I tossed around the idea of having a shot to soothe my throat of its "frog." I wondered if having a shot at 5 in the morning by myself made me an alcoholic. With no one else around, I could not achieve a second opinion, so I decided that I was turning to the whisky purely for its medicinal purposes.
I washed out a shot glass, and poured myself not quite a full shot of Johnny Walker. I sniffed it a little bit, taking in the aroma that I hoped would clear my sinuses a little bit. Oh, it smelled so sweet, that pure, intoxicating odor that smells like it could only come straight from the uncorking of the barrel. But it was coming right there from the shot, and it smelled so good. I took the shot, straight, no chaser, and let it ride down the back of my throat until I could feel it reach the lining of my stomach with its tender warmth. The remains of the taste that were left in my mouth, I sloshed about and slid all around so I could taste that sweet loving potion everywhere, from my head down to my toes.
I crawled back into bed and covered up in my sheets and lay my head down for what would be the remainder of the morning. I could breathe nothing but the therapeutic flavor of Johnny Walker Black until I fell asleep and it felt so good. My cough was cured and I fell asleep within minutes.
Like George Thorogood said, Johnny Walker can be a very good friend. He is there when you're sick and he can be there to make you sick, but if you abuse him, you'll turn him into a pretty sour enemy. I think I took advantage of Johnny's companionship last night and we helped each other without getting too intimate. I certainly encourage others to invest in a good friend like Johnny, because you just never quite know when the time will come to appreciate a fine whisky.