“Ugh,” I say to Dan, flopping down on the bed as he dresses for work and Shef wanders from outlet to outlet, searching for an uncovered one to lick, “I’ve had a headache for three days.”

He snickers a little in response, clearly underestimating the magnitude of my illness.

“Look,” I say pointedly, propping myself on my elbows, “I’ve coughed up two gallons of green phlegm this morning.”

More snickering and perhaps a little eye-rolling, though it was hard to tell from my angle.

“And my glands are totally swollen.” I rub my neck a little, examining the troubling lumpiness.

Here there is definite rolling-of-the-eyes.

"What?!" I demand.

Dan exhales a big sigh of exasperation as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Aren't you such a brave little soldier,” he croons, oozing false sweetness.

Humph.

It seems sarcasm has contaminated the milk of human kindness.