A plague on our house

We have a plague on our house today and I'm trying to steer clear of it.
Scott spent most of the day yesterday seated on one throne while Nick had his head down the other one.
Having said this, I fully expect my Facebook community will chime in with its characteristic smarminess.
"Shouda got the flu shot!"
Perhaps it's true but I will not be saying that to them, lest the hand of God decide to cuff me up the side of the head. I am not above a little teasing but I'm prefering to stay low and out of the way of this particular brand of nastiness.
When a bug goes around, the human reaction is to ask: was it something we ate?
Nay, Nick eats crap in the basement and Scott ate what I ate on Saturday, lovely lamb shanks from the butcher. So it's not that.
It could be spores in the backyard, the nasty result of an early spring, combined with doggy leftovers that Scott was cleaning up yesterday. Nick smokes out there as well, so that might be the connection.
Me, I sat inside yesterday playing Zelda, trying, unsuccessfully, to get the Boss Key in the Water Temple. Like a fool, I was sucked into a particularly insidious, silo-like creature and lost my water tunic, meaning I had to hold my breath everytime I went under water.
I digress.
I am the only person in the household who did get the flu shot. Unfortunately, it didn't do any good against the cold I acquired somewhere between the grocery store and the vet the day we had the misfortune of laying the lovely Hannah to rest.
I was distracted that day with all the crying and forgot to wash my hands -- the first day of year! -- and I have been fighting this bug for over a month now.
The cold is gone but has left a persistent tickle in my esophagus and a kind of heaviness in my lungs, leaving me with no choice but to either mainline Buckley's disgusting mixture or wet my pants in public.
I've had this bug before, nine years ago, and it took four months to go away. I suspect it was SARS.
Last night, I admit it, I self-medicated with a touch of gin and a bottle of wine and slept like a princess. Scott, however, did not. Apparently, I nearly hacked up a lung as I lay there unconcious.
Oh well, a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do to survive, right?
In a few, I'll being taking myself to the gym to try to stretch  out my vocal chords on the weight machines.
I will leave the men festooned in blankets.
In case I'm a carrier, I will perform due diligence and conscientious handwashing.
No point upsetting the universe any further.