The cold and flu season is still in full effect in our apartment. Sarah’s cold is so bad that we’ve decided to utilize “sick bay,” aka “the guest room.” Of course, despite the fact that I’m mostly okay now, I’m the one sleeping sick bay, but, oh well. It feels strange to be separated by this self-imposed quarantine.

Sarah: [via text sent from the bedroom] “G’night Roomie Husband.”
Me: [via text from Sick Bay] “We are not roomies. We are temporarily starcrossed lovers. Our eventual reunion will be beautiful.”
Sarah: “Ooooo. Then are you my Phantom of the Husband?”
Me: “Yes. Especially because that makes no sense.”