I haven’t kissed my husband in five days. He’s been sick and I am determined not to get it. Through all of the hacking, sneezing, and basic filth of wet tissues, I’ve managed to be lovingly concerned without being loving. Not snuggling. Not cuddling. Not getting-up-and-personal-with-his-tonsils kind of love and he’s a tad bit resentful.

He thinks I’m destined to get sick anyway. He said that we share a bed so we might as well share our illnesses. He says that now, when he’s the one that’s sick. But I’ve been resistant and on a steady diet of Airborne and allergy pills in the mornings, Airborne and echinacea tea in the evenings. This morning I bragged to a friend about being able to stay healthy through my husband’s sickness. Big mistake. Huge.

By mid-afternoon I had a sore throat. By late afternoon a headache. Now my sinuses have started. I’m currently drinking Airborne and crunching on my third cough drop. But here’s my question, does marriage really mean sharing a bed and the common cold? I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in my vows. Must be some kind of Achoo clause in the small print.