Bless You? For What—Sneezing My Soul Out?

There are two inevitabilities in life: death, and some rando yelling “Bless You!” the moment your face explodes in a sneeze. It’s like a reflexive exorcism performed in aisle five of Target. We’ve all been there—just minding our business, trudging through the existential molasses of daily life, and ACHOO! The ritual begins.

Suddenly, the room becomes a courtroom of etiquette. Someone has to say it. And if they don’t? You’d think they kicked a puppy. The pressure to deliver the sacred phrase is more intense than slicing a cheesecake evenly at a family BBQ. Say it too fast, you’re insincere. Say it too soft, you’re a creep (looking at you, Karen from accounting, whispering “bless you” like a Gregorian chant at last year’s holiday party).

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But let’s back up a second. Why are we blessing sneezes in the first place? Turns out, we can thank Pope Gregory I and a little something called the Plague. Back in 590 AD, when sneezing was seen as a sign you might be dropping dead soon, Gregory started the “God bless you” trend to try and, you know, ward off sudden death. Apparently, if someone sneezed near you, it was your civic duty to toss divine vibes their way like some medieval sneeze priest.

So yeah, it started as a desperate Hail Mary against pestilence. Cut to modern day: we’re not exactly dealing with the Black Death at the DMV, but the ritual stuck—like glitter, bad tattoos, and Boomers forwarding email chains.

Let’s take a moment to acknowledge the cosmic absurdity of it all: we’ve built an unspoken rule around one of the body’s most violent reflexes. It’s as senseless as throwing someone a standing ovation every time they hiccup. It’s not a divine crisis—it’s sinus turbulence.

Picture this: You’re mid-presentation, channeling your inner Steve Jobs in front of a boardroom full of over-caffeinated execs. Out of nowhere, your nasal passages revolt and unleash a Category 5 sneeze. The room stiffens. Then—like clockwork—someone murmurs, “Bless you,” as if they just saw the Virgin Mary in the PowerPoint slides.

Why? Why are we doing this? Are we pretending sneezing is some spiritual landmine that must be defused with polite incantations? Spoiler: your soul’s not rocketing out your nose. It’s mucus. Get a tissue.

Then there’s the elite tier of passive-aggressive politeness: The No-Bless-You Club. These stoic creatures stare at their phones, sip their overpriced lattes, and pretend your sneeze never happened—until they sneeze, and suddenly look around like they’ve been ghosted on their birthday. Hypocrisy, thy name is Chad.

The truth is, we’re all trapped in a politeness prison, shivering at the thought of being labeled “rude” because we didn’t offer divine commentary on someone’s sinus explosion. Next, we’ll be expected to high-five people for yawning or cheer when someone coughs without dying.

So the next time you hear a sneeze, before you launch into your automatic “Bless You,” take a breath. Consider the sheer insanity of this whole performance. And if you still say it—great. Just make sure you’re not Karen, roaming the halls blessing everyone like she moonlights as the Pope of HR.

But hey—if tossing a “Bless You” into the world is your way of being kind, no judgment. In a time when people honk before the light even turns green and ghost each other over tacos, maybe this weird sneeze ritual is one of the last scraps of unprompted human decency we’ve got.

So go ahead—bless the sneezers. Just… maybe don’t whisper it like you’re casting a spell.

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