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necessary for my sanity — is borderline persecution. This might even be a hate crime.”
    “You don’t hate Jason. You just hate his man-cold… and everything it puts you through. Besides, no female jury would convict you. We’re not actually harming him, anyway. We’re just giving him turbo-charged incentives to get on his feet and out of your apartment.”
    “But some of what you’ve already told me sounds inhumane, and I don’t think you’ve even explained the worst stuff.”
    Christine chuckled. Knowing her, it would taste sweeter to keep the worst components as surprises. “Not to worry. If he ever feels endangered, all he’s got to do is get up off your couch and walk out that door. He’s not a tied-up prisoner, you know.”
    “I know. But you’ve got to remember, I do actually love this idiot.” She thought for a moment. “At least I love him when he doesn’t have a cold. At this specific period of our relationship, I guess I’m just tolerating him. But that’s because I love him.”
    “Well, you keep working on that cover story. I understand, you don’t want to harm him. Fine.” Christine sounded bored. “Like I said, he’s free to man-up and walk out at any point. But in my theory, men will endure a lot of discomfort just to be given a little extra attention. Must be some gender-trauma-recovery syndrome.”
    “Christine, you just made that up.”
    “Well, maybe the name. But the syndrome is real enough. Men truly crave the babying they get when they’re sick. Reminds them of those good ole times at momma’s breast. That’s precisely why man-colds are so exhausting for us. When children get sick, they basically want to get better as soon as possible so they can go outside and play. But men don’t care if they get better or not. They don’t want to go back to work. Why would they? Especially if they get paid sick leave. So if they can squeeze two weeks out of a cold, and get pampered in the meantime, they’re completely with that program.” Christine tapped her phone with a long fingernail while she paused. “That’s why we’re replacing the standard protocol with our Scare-Cure. When we get through with Jason, he’s going to be glad to return to his own residence and go back to work. And you’ll finally get back the serenity of your own place.”
    “That sounds real nice, but I’ve never had any serenity here. The neighbors in the next duplex have nineteen screaming kids. The lady in my own duplex spends most of her waking hours yodeling. So, what serenity are you talking about?”
    “Work with me, Amanda. I’m sugar-coating it just a little bit, for the blog. Our readers don’t need to know that you don’t have any bliss.”
    “Let’s get away from my bliss — however imaginary — and back to the extreme loss of privacy that we’re exposed to by you posting all these details on your blog.”
    “Our blog. You’re the subjects. I’m just the facilitator.”
    “Well, you’re going to facilitate us right onto one of those confrontational reality shows.”
    “I hadn’t thought of television.” Christine apparently mulled that possibility. “Nah. Too physical. They all slap and claw each other. Our stuff is more dignified.”
    “Dignified? Your list indicated you’re planning to have his colon cleaned!”
    “Jason doesn’t know about that yet… it’s just in reserve. I don’t think we’ll even use it. But if we do need to keep him under control, dangling that colon threat could be very useful.”
    “Well, don’t mention that unless you absolutely have to. I think Jason’s kind of skittish about his back door.” Amanda caught her breath. “Look, I appreciate everything you’re doing… trying to help. I really do. But I’m nervous about having all this detail posted on the Internet where our lives are suddenly the sport, or whatever, for hundreds of voyeuristic blog-readers.”
    “Hundreds? Ha! Girl, this is gonna take off! We’ll have thousands of