I have a question to the blogosphere. What do you say to a person whose idea of starting a conversation is poking their head into your cube, positioning it exactly two feet from your face, and announcing:
"Why, I do believe I'm coming down with something!!! I feel horrible!"
Every... freaking... day.
Sure enough, on the fourth or fifth try, Typhoid Mary finally managed to give me something. I spent all weekend fighting a budding cold. Then again, my methods of fighting a budding cold involve large amounts of glintwein, so it's not all bad. Seriously though, I'm afraid of passing the cold to my kids, or, worse, my parents.
