Everyone in my family is sick. My sister's girl has pneumonia, my sister has a nasty throat infection. My girl has it too, and is now on florescent pink antibiotics that smell sickly sweet. They are all hacking and feverish, and I'm positively dreading the moment that I feel the first tickle in my throat.
But damnit, I refuse to get sick. I've only just gotten better from the last round of flu.
My first line of defense has been to shoot everyone with nasty glares when they forget to cover their mouths when they cough. I send evil death-rays with a paralyzing frown, and refuse to breath in for at least a minute afterwards. I, the less anal one, carry antibiotic wipes, and feel the need to spray a little bit of lysol over every single surface in the house. I cringe when my baby wants to cuddle, and inwardly curse myself for feeling repulsed when she wipes her nose on my shirt, unconsciously. Because, it's not the mucus that bothers me, it's those bloody germs, of course.
I'm on edge, because resistance is futile. I think it's only a matter of time before I start sniffling and sneezing, too.