In which I say nice things about people who spread their communicable diseases. Or…not.
The following things were ruined because someone was sick and, instead of staying home where she belonged, spread the illness to Matt, who only has to hear about a cold to catch it:
- the fresh-from-the-oven blueberry-peach cobbler he couldn’t eat
- our plans to fence the evening away
- probably tomorrow’s plans for Thai food
- possibly our plans to head down to see family this weekend
- definitely my mood
Listen. I know it’s a hazard of living in a community and having close contact with other people, but this is the third time in not so many months that he’s contracted a cold from her. Seriously: if you are sick, stay the fuck home. And if you must leave the germiness of your environs to go out and save the world — and for nothing less! — then wash your hands vigorously and DON’T TOUCH OTHER PEOPLE’S SHIT. Oh hell, don’t touch anything. Carry a bottle of Lysol around if you have to, or bleach wipes, or a flame-thrower to really do some disinfecting. Passing along your illness ruins other people’s days and plans, not just your own.
And so help me god, if you get him sick again this year, I will smack you upside the head with the cast-iron skillet I’ll buy ‘specially for the occasion. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get one, and this may be it.