The perils of snotty children

I knew what I was getting into. Once I saw my niece put her fingers in her nose, then grab my leg as I sat with my nephew, I knew it was all over.

Roughly 72 hours later, my head is sore, my throat raw.

The little bugger got me sick. 

To be fair, she's only 2.

This, sadly, is the fate of many childless adults who visited family for the Thanksgiving holiday. Our immune systems just couldn't handle the tiny germs floating off the little children that ran around our legs and jumped on our laps while we ate our apple pie. We are all waking today, or traveling, or working, with dry lips, tight muscles, and throbbing noggins.

The little glazed donut monsters. Snot dripping. Hands clinging. We were no match for their powers.

And, I have to keep convincing myself that these attacks were not intentional. I have to keep telling myself that the little mercenaries were not sent over by their parents, eager to free themselves for a few moments, to remember what life before children was like, if only for a fleeting moment. I have to hope that these ambushes were not pointed at the empty handed.  

Though, coughing and drinking my tea under a quilt, my mind may not be clear enough to make a sound judgement. I am pumping my body with Zinc and Vitamin C. Perhaps they will curb my suspicions.

Until then, I wait and hope that, when I close my eyes for rest, I am not haunted with the face of a 2-year-old cold carrier, eyes set on another victim.