The common cold: a morality tale

Today, while I was standing at the register at Borders paying for two birthday cards in a not unspeedy fashion, the woman behind me in line decided that I was not cramming my change back into my wallet speedily enough to suit her, and thus took it upon herself to fasten her body at my elbow and breathe on the back of my head before sighing loudly in my ear. It was the sigh of a thousand years of torment and injustice, the sigh of the righteous and the wronged, a sigh that said, in no uncertain terms, This space and this register belong to me, by god, by magic, by hook and by crook. And as I turned to exit, the cough that I unleashed in her general direction said, Be my guest, and may this acute viral nasopharyngitis belong to you as well.