Karma don’t care, it just takes what it wants.

I believe in karma so hardcore right now.

It’s hard not to joke about how whimpy guys are about being sick. If they didn’t act so… manly and tough all the time, it wouldn’t be so amusing to see them revert to toddler-with-an-owie status over a common cold.

I’ve racked up some serious karma debt on that front, all of which I’ve solidly paid off in the last 72 hours.

First, my domestic partner (as he prefers to be called, much to my delight) gets sick. He barfs about a billion times in one night. As I am not, in fact, a soulless monster, I feel bad for him. I wipe yak off the toilet seat and get him 7-Up at the gas station at 4am.

But by the next day, I’m all,”You can’t spend all day in bed. At least move to the couch.”

I feel like I’m doing him a favor by toughening him up a bit.

He obediently relocates to the sofa, where he promptly falls asleep for another 3 hours. I decide he’s not faking it and get him some crackers for dinner.

This is pretty much the extent of my sympathy. Why? Because a guy will stay in bed for 3 days with a head cold if you let him — and coddling is just an incentive for him to do so.

Then I feel it coming. The nausea first swells up as I’m sitting on the couch, finishing the last bites of a gourmet dinner (granola in a mason jar).

I already know what’s in store, having witnessed D.P.’s three days of hell, but I assure myself I’ll be a champ about it. One day, max. Maybe I’ll stay in bed for two just ‘cuz I can.

The first time I barf, I’m all, “That wasn’t so bad.” I brush my teeth and crack a few jokes to prove what a boss I am.

By 3 am, I am a moaning pile of bones and goosebumps. The last time I hallucinated this interestingly was after a sketchy helping of rice pudding during my pre-college missionary days (yep.) in Peru. I am pretty sure I’m going to die any minute.

And, of course, I feel completely neglected because nobody is awake to hold my hair back/hear my best Chewbacca impression yet.

Two days later, I am still in bed. Still moaning. Still summoning D.P. to bring me things/turn up the heat/turn down the heat/feed the cats/bring me more things. Yesterday I slept all day. ALL DAY. Today, I walked around the house briefly, doubled over in pain, before resigning myself to yet another day of trying to find a position to sleep in that hurts slightly less than the others.

So while D.P. works, complaining only occasionally about stomach pain — that I now know feels like a sucker-punch to the sternum — I will just lie here in agony eating my words (and some delicious cookies that my mother mailed me).