Being married to someone who’s immunocompromised truly sucks, y’all. Not only does he get every damn cold, flu, fever, and case of shingles (seriously) that comes down the pike, but he then gives them all to me. Well, except the shingles.

I can’t even rightly make fun of him, since it’s not, like, his fault that a case of swine flu exploded into a horrific bout of pneumonia that maxed out our insurance and nearly killed him. Or that I have to deal with caring for him during Man Colds (which are, as you know, The Worst Colds Ever) twice as often and three times as long as a normal wife.

No, I am normally ok with this, since a) I have the rock-solid constitution of a poor rural kid whose mama didn’t really believe in pediatric medicine and b) he’s the best goddamn husband that ever lived. However, I am up late tonight, because he’s given me his fucking cold for the ten millionth time, and I can’t sleep with a stuffed-up nose. Fuck.