Sniffles, Jeanette Brennan thought, are an under-rated physical handicap. At work, she dealt with stinky carbonless copies. Every wipe of her nose brought those chemicals close to her nose and eyes. Now she was trying to cook and needed to wash her hands every time she blew her nose. Bob had spent his worst three days lying face down on the bed, and then she had caught it from him.

Her cold had never been as acute as his, but she could have used a few days in bed nevertheless. She hadn't been working long enough for sick days, however; and having a cold isn't really being sick.

Normally, she could have prepared the tomato soup and the sandwiches at the same time. As it was, she opened the cans and dumped them in the pan, turned on the fire, blew her nose, washed her hands, scraped out the cans, added the milk powder, turned off the fire, blew her nose, washed her hands, mixed the milk in the cans, stirred the first milk into the soup, blew her nose, washed her hands, and finally guessed that it was safe to turn the gas back on.

The night before, she had made enough rice for that night's fried rice and tonight's tomato-rice soup. When she looked in the refrigerator, however, she found half of it gone. Bob was entitled to snacks, she hadn't labeled the rice, it wasn't as if he had gone hog-wild on an expensive delicacy, but still ... She dumped what was left of it into the pan.

She heard Bob call "Love you," at that moment. Then the door slammed. She hadn't heard it open. Instead of coming and hugging her, he made a rush to the bedroom. Then she heard him blow his nose loudly. She finally got her hug after he had washed his hands at the sink. She didn't want him dripping on her hair, she didn't want germ-filled hands clasping her -- especially while she was cooking, but still she did need a hug. She needed him to ask how her day was. Before he did, she had to break the hug to blow her own nose. When she came back, she had to stir the soup.

"Rain is much the worst weather for colds," said Bob. "Freezing temps aren't half as bad. I can remember snowy days when I was a kid. Much better than this rain. By the way, what time is supper?"

"Look," she answered, "I didn't know when you'd be coming home, you know. This damn cold has me spending more time blowing my nose than cooking. When you were down with it, you didn't wash one dish. If you want to eat sooner, you can set the table."

"I'm glad you're happy. How long to supper?"

"I don't have one reason in the whole wide world to be happy. Why should I be? If you had spent one tenth the time this summer learning to cook a few cheap dishes that you spent fiddling with those charts, you could cook your own dinner. I do most of the cleaning; why should I do all the cooking?"

"I know that you work hard. What I don't know is when dinner will be."

"Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. I don't know with all this dripping and hand-washing."

"Thanks for the information. Hardly pays to turn on the computer for that length of time. I have to write a paper due tomorrow, and I had to finish the research tonight. That's why I was late. Soup and... ?"

"Toasted cheese sandwiches. You say that you like them."

"I do, normally. They'll taste like cardboard tonight, but everything does. I should be able to taste the soup, though." Bob set the table with plates for the sandwiches, bowls for the soup, glasses, napkins and soup spoons.

Jeanette finished the cooking, dished up, and sat through grace. Then she got up and ostentatiously placed a knife and fork at her place setting.

"Why," asked Bob, "do you need a knife and fork for soup and sandwiches?"

Jeanette cut a piece out of her sandwich and brought it to her mouth with the fork. "A place setting," she answered after she had swallowed, "includes a knife, fork, and spoon. Always! Even if you are not going to use any of them. You can stand up and eat out of the serving bowls on your midnight depredations of my planned meals; but, when this family has a family meal, we are going to have a set table. You cut every corner. Do I have to tell you how to set a table every time?"

"No you don't! I know how to set a table. You just have different rules. I wash the damn dishes, and I don't want to wash unused articles. Is that so strange? Who, besides your mother, is watching to see how we set the table?"

"I'm watching. I want a family dinner, not a dorm snack. I want a house that looks and feels and smells like a family home, not smelling of three-week old laundry."

"That's unfair. The laundry is old because I was lying in there with my nose running like a faucet. Now I'm behind in my school work, and I have to catch up tonight. The laundry will be done tomorrow. Anyway..."

"No, Bob. That's not true. The laundry is two weeks old because you treat a cold like a case of diphtheria. It is three weeks old because you didn't do it two weeks ago. If you planned to do the laundry every week, we would have enough to take you over colds."

"Jeanette, I am not your damned assistant. I do the laundry. Period. I don't tell you how to cook, and..."

"You came in tonight criticizing the delay. When you have a cold the world stops. When I have one, I can't run late by one minute."

"I never complained about dinner being late! I asked when it would be. You decided not to answer my question, but that was my question. I had to ask it three times."

"You were implying..."

"You were guessing. I told you what I wanted to know. I have a paper to write, and this sure as hell isn't helping. You run the cuisine. I tell you what I like, but I don't supervise the menu."

"You sabotage it, though! You ate the rice for the soup."

"I'm sorry. I didn't see the warning. You ought to stick them on with tape."