While the boyfriend can be awesome (see: Mystery Destination), he can also be such a boy sometimes. Case in point: last night.

(TMI disclaimer here)

Last night, as you may have guessed from the mountain of tissues on the coffee table, I felt like shit. And I looked completely gross, as only someone who has gone through an entire box of kleenex and has moved onto box 2 because her nose will.not.stop.running and whose nose is all red and puffy and gross can look. He was very sweet (particularly because I HATE being sick and get very whiney when I don’t feel well) and took care of me all night – getting me wonton soup and pink.berry – and we hung out and watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall and had a nice time. However, when we went to bed, despite the fact that I was alternatively sneezing/coughing/blowing my nose every five minutes, he turns to me and says…

“Um. What do you think about a hand.job?”

Hmmm…what did I think about a hand.job at that exact moment in time? Let me tell you, they were not favorable thoughts. It was extra special because he was not-so-jokingly avoiding kisses/me breathing in his direction all night because he didn’t want to get sick. Clearly, based on that and my description of myself as a snotty gross puffy mess, you can guess that I was feeling super sexy at that point and super into the idea (NOT). He can be kind of selfish sometimes. Ugh.