Yes, I vote for the burgundy....
My DH gets terrible colds. Maybe 1 a year. He comes home early from work, having sensibly stopped at the chemist on the way to his death bed. He hides for 4 days at which point I make him an apt because it's usually turned into a chest infection or similar. This is how it should be done.
The rest of the year he will make sure he is in the same room at me at all times if there is a chance that he will have to update me on his headache, hangnail that he pulled off so it's torn too far, "niggly" back, or general exhaustion from putting the bin out.
If it's his back he needs to do hours of stretching exercises that cut right through all timetabled events, bedtimes, children's dinners. He bangs and crashes around finding heat packs, heating said packs, wondering how long he should keep pack on back? whether an ice pack might not be helpful? Meanwhile I've organised the entire world, while providing all necessary info on medicine dosage and timing because apparently no one can keep this in their heads apart from me.
And then I snap, tell him to read the instructions, go and die quietly, and that I just don't care.
Wounded and silent is much easier than mildly energised by injury resolution. I'm a cow, but it's ridiculous behaviour!