Don’t Touch That

This week, I have a cold. I used to pretend colds were a fun change of pace. Plus, who could argue against the joy of sneezing? This time, I hold no such delusions. I’m annoyed that I need to carry around a travel pack of Kleenex like some three year-old’s mom, the three-old being me.

One reason I may have gotten sick is that I don’t really believe in germs. I know they exist, but I don’t think they can hurt me. In my head, only pansies wash their hands before eating and Purell is for neurotics.

Except as a sick person, I notice myself touching everything and I’m starting to feel like the monkey in Outbreak. If you’ve ridden a B train lately, watch out. On my last ride, I coughed everywhere and held the handrail with my bacteria laden hands. And while I would never use an instant bacterial killer, those people sort of have a point.