Rachelle had the plague this week, probably the Norwalk virus. The high tide mark was when she was sitting on the john with a big mixing bowl in her lap, jetting from both ends, poor girl. The moans and cries from the bathroom were quite heart-rending.
But I, more beloved in the sight of heaven than my obviously sinful wife*, miraculously escaped affliction. An angel of the LORD hovered around and upon me, swatting off pesky flu bugs with a flaming sword. Looked like a hippy in a hotel bathrobe playing crazy golf, and the constant BZZRT in the astral dimensions was enough to make me wonder why the LORD didn't just send down some vaccine and dang the Old Testament conceits, but I guess if you're going to enjoy the protection of old Big Beard, you have to put up with all the wacky trappings.
* Psalm 38:3 There is no soundness in my flesh because of your indignation; there is no health in my bones because of my sin.