My son is so adorable. He’s every cute YouTube video your friends send you. You see him and you just want to hug him. I won’t publish his name here, but for purposes of this post we’ll just refer to him as Ragin’ Contagion.
You might know someone like him.
RC goes to preschool where they collect and trade plagues as part of the curriculum. It’s like a scavenger hunt. Prizes are hidden on doorknobs, on faucets and atomized into green clouds. I’m sure the clouds are green, not a pretty pine-smelling or minty green, but a drab yellowish-green like overcooked Brussels Sprouts. Mmm! Did you get yours? Well, that’s part of the fun; you won’t know you won for 2 days to 2 weeks.
You might wake with a painful swallow and a voice that sounds like you singlehandedly keep big tobacco profitable. Maybe one of your eyes is bonded shut with yellowish super-glue.
You get up and the world feels different. The brush of your flannel pajamas is more like an Army Surplus wool blanket. You run some water for a warm washcloth to un-stick your afflicted eye and hot tea to irrigate your dustbowl throat.
I’m certain that another of the survival strategies of microbes is to make the infected act so pitiful that others draw near to comfort them.
You groan. Why? Because the agents of pestilence are pulling levers in your brain that make you groan. Your loved one looks at you and says, “Aw.”
At just the right moment, the virus says, “Fire!” A cannon shot of microscopic balls of snot bursts into the air. They land like seeds. A scant 10 million or so packets of DNA seek fertile pastures in an upper respiratory tract or maybe an eye.
Wash your hands. Cover when you cough. Get plenty of rest. Drink lots of fluids. And stay the heck away from me.
Oh, I’m sorry. That was harsh. You poor thing. Let me hold you.
Gesundheit.
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