For the last 24 hours, I’ve been a mouth-breather. You know why? Because I have a cold. It’s the kind of cold where your voice is hoarse and not sexy hoarse, and you need to keep wadded up toilet paper in your pockets for you faucet-nose.

Two nights ago, Steve rolled over to me in bed and tried to cop a feel and I said, “Ibe siiiiiick.” It was so hot, I tell you.

It’s a little like I was flaunting my non-sickiness what with my vowed avoidance of flu shots (they only make you sicker!) and when in the comments on Chris’s post about how you don’t catch cold from washing your hair, I wrote this: “True dat. My throat is sore and I never wash my hair…” It’s true, I don’t wash my hair very often because it’s curly and color-treated as the shampoo bottles always so delicately put it.

But here I am, mouth breathing and swiping at my face with toilet paper. Today I removed Archie’s cloth diapers from his room and now they are called rags and I thought for a long moment about abducting one to use as my faucet-nose wiper. But that’s wrong, right Internet? It’s wrong to use diapers to wipe my nose.

I think. I mean it’s clean. And smells fine. And my son poops roses and gold, just so you know.

I also realize that paragraph number three makes no sense, but whatever. My nose is running and my diaper toilet tissue has reached its maximum density.

I’ve met Rod Stewart. He’s a ponce.