Germy Mc Germison
When I was about eight years old, I accidently gave my baby brother, then four months old, my cold. I had stayed home from school sick, and honestly wasn't even thinking about it when I lovingly kissed him as I played with and cared for him.
The kiss was enough to have him spend two days in the hospital, in an oxygen tent on the 23 and 24 of December. He spent Christmas Eve in the hospital. I felt awful, of course, and my parents joked about my 'kiss of death' to the point that I would go to my room and cry.
Since then, I am slightly neurotic about germs. I am very aware of what I touch and use extreme caution not to pass along or pick up germs if I can possibly help it. I expect the same from, of all people, my husband.
Friday night, after spending the day together, kissing and loving etc, Rick finally says, "I think I may be coming down with something."
What only moments earlier was the vision of lovliness in my eyes, has now transformed into a cess pool of germs and disease. I distance myself a bit before replying.
"What do you mean?"
"I think I'm coming down with a cold. My throats scratchy and my nose is stuffy. My head hurts a little too, but thats probably my sinus'."
"When did your sypmtoms start?" I ask, knowing its already too late, that hes allowed foreign bacteria to enter my body and form a plan of attack.
"Yesterday, I guess."
Yesterday?! He canoodled with me all day, knowing he was sick since yesterday?! Not to mention the wrestling with our son. Rick doesn't think about those things. This irritates me to no end. I feel like his mother, constantly having to remind him to wash his hands after he blows his nose, or to sneeze into his sleeve, not the open air, or to take his medicine.
So Saturday morning, the baby has a runny nose. Surprise, surprise. By Saturday night, I'm sniffling and sneezing. The invasion was successful. And I had no idea my husband was a double agent, carrying the enemy in his kiss. Traitor.