Blah...

Living with a boy -- particularly mine -- is great.

I go grocery shopping , do the dishes and laundry and cook dinner half as often. We share chores; we share money; we share bills; we share responsibilities.

But there comes a point in every relationship that the sharing goes too far.

That recently has happened for Jeremy and me, as we are now sharing a cold.

Before we could even board the plane to come back home to Naples from Raleigh two weekends ago, I knew I was in trouble. I was already scanning the back of Jeremy's throat for redness, and pulling napkins and tissues out of my purse for his use.

By Monday afternoon, he had a full-blown cold, and I knew that no matter how much Vitamin C I crammed down my throat, it would be my turn soon enough.

By midweek, as Jeremy's cold seemed to be on the mend, mine was just beginning.

With our original plans for a long weekend together out the window, I set myself up on the couch with Simpsons DVDs and plenty of throat spray.

As I was struggled to remain awake, I was all prepared to curse Jeremy for delivering his illness to me. That is, until he came home with flank steaks to cook and to cure me of my woes.

Though it was a bit more low-key than I had originally planned, our weekend lazing about in recovery-mode was just what we needed.

After all, getting comfort and cuddles at home is, by far, the best part of living with a boy!