I was ill, which is no unordinary occurrence; sinus infections are hereditary in my family. (Thanks Mom.)


I was ill, which is no unordinary occurrence; sinus infections are hereditary in my family. (Thanks Mom.)

Feeling miserable at work and looking for a bit of virtual comfort via text message, I reached out to my male counterpart.

"I still feel awful," I whined. "I think I'm allergic to our apartment."

Having fought "the crud" for several weeks now - around the same time we moved into the interesting culture that is apartment living - I felt it was a somewhat realistic correlation.

Expecting to receive the closest thing to a bouquet of roses one can send on a smart phone, The Man's response was anything but.

"Maybe we need to vacuum more often," he stated — like that made me feel any better.

Using his response as a bit of self promotion in the realm of marriage material, as I so often do, I changed tactics.

"Nope, I think it just means that it's time for us to get married and buy a house," I replied with high hopes of quickly leaving the multi-family dwelling lifestyle behind.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I said. 'Will you vacuum me?'" The Man so smartly text messaged back.

OK Buck-o, two can play at this game.

"Yes!" I typed with the enthusiasm I expect to have on the day the "real" question FINALLY comes. "But you'll end up with suction hickeys for sure."

Though I had lost the marriage discussion battle, as usual, I had won the war on sarcasm.

Realizing I was going to find no moral support or any of the warm fuzzy feelings one hopes to find from another when allergy medications and hot tea just don't cut it, I gave up and called Mom. It was her fault I was sick anyway.

Letting a few days pass, I made another attempt at matrimonial bait.

With a caption that contained bribery, innocence and love, I addressed a crystal clear high-resolution photo of the ring of my dreams to Santa himself.

After all, I got a vacuum last Christmas.