Z: Check our throats for lots of wheezing

She: Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Z: ‘Tis the season to be sneezing

She: Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Z: Down we now our Theraflu

She: Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la

Z: Bid our phlegm a fond adieu

She: Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Z: What is up with you and Koss between Thanksgiving and New Year’s?

She: Fa la la?

Z: We’re done with the song.

She: Oh. Sorry. First time I’ve been able to sing in a couple of weeks. Could we do, “O Barf All Ye Faithful” next?

Z: Why do the two of you always get sick at least once during the holidays?

She: Probably the raging snowstorms. Or our seasonal work with the lepers. Sometimes they’re contagious.

Z: I’ll tell you who’s contagious. Four hundred elementary school kids, that’s who’s contagious. It’s like a raging pool of viral fun, a science experiment that just can’t end well.

She: It amazes me that teachers aren’t perpetually sick. How do they do it?

Z: Some seriously built up immunities. I imagine the first couple of years are miserable.

She: Kind of like the first couple of years of preschool, where Koss brought home germs like some kids collect Yu-Gi-Oh! cards.

Z: Only without the synergistic games, movies and TV shows to make it all worth it.

She: I have a theory that we always get sick at the holidays because we can. It’s left over from college, when I’d come home from not being able to be sick for three months, and just let it all go.

Z: It’s getting so that my family doesn’t even believe that you’re really sick on Christmas anymore. They think you’re just Jewish or something.

She: I wish. I mean, I am Jewish, but I love Christmas. Maybe that’s God punishing me for wanting a Christmas tree?

Z: My father used to tell us that we got sick because we didn’t eat our vegetables.

She: Then you should be running a constant fever.

Z: No. I think I’m safe because I swim so much. Really, you guys need to work out more. That’s my theory.

She: That’s so caring of you.

Z: Just carrying on a proud familial tradition of blaming the sick person for being sick. Do you feel better now?

She: As long as you don’t get sick.

Z: I swim almost every day. I am immune to sickness.

She: Let’s hope so. I’m still not completely recovered from the last time you got the sniffles.

Z: What do you mean?

She: It’s OK, honey. You don’t have to be ashamed of being such a wimp when you get sick. You’re tough in other ways.

Z: I’m not a wimp! Sniffle.

She: You can ignore your swimmer’s-shoulder pain, open really tight jars of spaghetti sauce, and carry 60 pounds of dead weight in the form of a sleeping child; but face it, honey, colds, fevers, and flu are your Kryptonite.

Z: You’re calling me a superhero. Sweet!

She: Is that a fever talking?

Z: Will you blease make me sub of thad tea and bass me the Tylenol?

She: Fa-la-la-la-la!

Z: Yes, dear.

When She and Z are healthy, they can be reached at leslie@lesliedinaberg.com.