So, what virus have you had? You must have because everyone I’ve run into lately has a virus-story. I swear it’s a biological smorgasbord out there.
I could understand catching more than one bug per season if I worked in a school, or if I regularly met the general public, but I don’t. I sit in a room, typing, usually with the door shut to keep out the cats, well, one cat in particular. He’s a jerk and so’s his sister. Thank goodness she lives with her foster-mom. Two of them would be too trying.
But back to disease. I’m a virtual recluse, so how do the blasted germs get in?
Not only am I a recluse, but I have a thing about my hands (not OCD, but enough so that a son-in-law noticed). Anything gets on the digits and they get a tubbing, then a massage with lotion or cream. I’m not weird about it, or anything, just …, well, just reliable. You can safely shake hands with me (and I won’t even immediately adjourn to a wash-basin. I wait at least a couple of moments.)
I’m surprised that my hands don’t look like they belong to the Pillsbury Dough Boy because they’ve absorbed at least a metric ton of moisturizer. I discovered Jergens hand lotion when I was 10 — I remember the event** — and I haven’t (voluntarily) been without hand cream since.
But back to disease.
I have a theory on how germs spread so easily — they’re like honey. The moment you touch honey, even if it’s not obvious that your finger touched it, it’s all over the place. On the handle of the knife. Then on the handle of the fork. Then on your sleeve. The stuff’s a mess. (tasty, but a mess) Germs are like that — sticking onto everything.
But, how do they get into my sanctum sanctorum, the back room? My daughter even noticed our special status because she came down with the most recent bug the very day before I did. Given incubation periods, we had to be simultaneously exposed, but we don’t frequent the same places. She goes out in the world, but she’s even more fussy about her hands, especially during germ-season, but she comes by it professionally: she’s a doctor, a veterinary surgeon. Scrubbing-up is second nature to her and she (and I) are not huggers or touchers. We stay here, you stay there, everyone’s happy (except her huggy sister & aunt/my huggy daughter & sister, but they’re used to us).
So the doctor and recluse both get the tummy-bug, and we’re damned irritated about it. The only up-side I can see is that it gave me a subject for a blog post, but only after way-laying me so that I sat here for the entire month of January, often staring at the blog, but not wanting to type anything at all. So I got a blog post out of it. Whoop. Make that a Big Whoop.
I can’t wait for these blasted bugs to go away.
** Meeting Jergens Lotion: Ladies’ room of the Family Services office where my mother volunteered. Pink walls and ceiling decorated with painted black poodles. Very 1950s chic. For me, the lotion was love at first sniff & touch.