Sharing

One thing that's fun about living with three other people is germs. Maybe they got into the house by way of the Westmoreland County Community College. Or maybe UPS. But Josh, my sister's boyfriend, was the carrier for what I've now got.
He had the runniest nose I've heard since elementary school; sniffles, sneezes and hawks filled the air in this four-bedroom ex-duplex day and night. He used the family's computer, his hand all over the mouse, throughout the kitchen, on the remote that I use...
I thought I was safe because I'm not the one in the house that kisses him. In fact, I haven't hugged him since I came home from Wisconsin at the end of July, which was awkward enough to begin with. I had a feeling that he wasn't too excited to see me back after five weeks away, and I was sitting at said family computer when he came into the room and asked me how I was doing, how my trip was. I began to answer, safely seated in the wheely chair, and he spread his arms out for a hug. So I stood up and gave him a short, loose hug and sat back down. Surely these germs weren't lying dormant in his system then.
But it occured to me a couple nights ago when I heard my sister sniffling that this thing was going to get around. Hell, we share furniture, appliances, cups, silverware, the telephone... surely we would be sharing our viruses soon too.
So here I sit, hoping to squeeze in a nap somewhere between classes and praying that my family has enough Sudafed to share among the three of us, stocked up to get me through the rest of this week. My mom, naturally the oldest among us, is the only one who never gets sick. Maybe it's because she eats microwaved dinners from sterilized plastic trays and never uses this damn computer...