Mommy Sex and the Man Cold a Tale as Old as Time

Mommy sex and the man cold don’t mix. If you thought pregnancy and crabs was the worst things you could catch from unprotected sex, you’ve never caught the man cold. And when I say protected, I’m not just talking about wearing a condom, I’m talking about sporting some sexy hazmat suit from head to toe. I learned the hard way that mommy sex and the man cold are a bad combination.

I woke up this morning feeling like I had been run over, backed up and run over again by a mac truck full of cattle. That’s almost how bad I felt, but actually…I feel worse than that. I blame myself, really. Apparently, there are no “poor girls not gotten laid in awhile” pass clause when it comes to your husband being sick. Girl, if you back that truck up and let him cough on you…hey, sex at your own risk; proceed with caution.

See, normally I’m all, “Don’t kiss me on the mouth” all hooker style when he’s sick. But being with the way things are lately ( the whole living situation, limited time together) once we hit the conjagulorium all bets were off. In the heat of the moment, I didn’t care where he kissed me I was more focused on the fact that he was home to kiss me at all. Desperate times, desperate measures.

Now, I’m sneezing so much that I’ve already had to change my panties twice this morning and its only 1 pm. I’m coughing non-stop. My throat hurts like I swallowed razor blades and then took a shot of Drano and my voice is crackling. I have a runny nose that keeps producing the most unladylike green substance that I have ever seen in the entire of my whole life.

That’s not even mentioning my chapped red nose, my chapped lips, my deafness and lack of smell. Plus I pretty much feel like I am walking around in a big giant bubble of sickness.

Guess what? A 3 and 5-year-old, don’t care. They don’t give even one fuck that I caught daddy’s man cold. One’s yelling at me because I won’t take them to Healthworks science museum, the other one is pissed off because she wants me to bring up her winter clothes from the basement and all I really want to do is curl up and try not to die. Why won’t these tiny people let me be sick in peace?

So, you can just imagine what happened when I saw the dirty dishes in the sink this morning. You know, the dirty dishes that I asked the Big Guy to do before he left back out of town. I believe my exact words were,

“Please do the dishes before you leave. I’ve done them for three months straight and I think I might blow my head off if I have to do them again!”

Really, does he want me to blow my head off?  Because sure as I am standing here with a red nose and a pocket full of green riddled used Kleenex, he left those damn dishes for ME! It wasn’t too big of a deal until I was on my way to pick up Bella from school and realized on top of everything else…I have to NOW do those damn dishes.

I texted him.Something to the effect,  “I am dying over here. Are you fucking kidding me!!!!Thanks a LOT!!!”

His response….”I shouldn’t have taken that nap you FORCED me to take” ( yeah, he was sick so I was being nice but it wasn’t like I put a gun to his head and FORCED him into bed).

Next, as if he wanted me to murder him, he said: “Leave them until next weekend. I’ll do them then!”

Really, seriously, as if I am going to leave dirty nasty dishes in the sink until the weekend. I’m NOT and I’m pretty sure he knows that.

But I am really sick and don’t feel like doing the dishes. In fact, it’s probably the last thing that I want to do right now. I may, however, throw them all in the garbage.

Anybody else have these kinds of days? Just me then? So, to recap, thanks honey for the literal kiss of death you shared with me and the dirty dishes that you left me, as well. Anything else that you want to give me? Maybe a hefty case of gonorrhea? lice? The Bubonic plague? Dysentery? 5 loads of laundry? Throw up in the bathrooms? See you this weekend, the dishes may or may not be waiting too.I guess it depends whether or not they sprout legs and walk away on their own.