Son of Virus

Anyone who remembers when I'be 'da code will be cheered to know that Son of Virus has once again taken up residence in my vast, empty cranial cavity. Snotty, runny, raw nose not unlike being belt sanded with 80 grit has resulted. A throat like a cross town bus has backed up into it. Drivers, please don't idle engines, get stuffed Port Authority of Bunny Throat.

Its probably an errant germ that got on my second packet of airline peanuts on the flight home. Yes, once again, I strapped myself into a flammable seat in a sealed aluminum tube and breathed the same air as Petrie Dish Pete for over two hours the other night.

See, that's how you get colds. Viruses. Germs hit you up for spare change and, wanting to impress your date, you toss them a few quarters and the next thing you know Granny Influenza and the Strep twins are unrolling mattresses in your aesophagus.

Just tell that to my mother. No way! You get colds from being cold. Oh sure, modern science is fine and all but they should keep Viagra away from anyone over sixty five so I could date without fear but when it comes right down to it, if you're cold, you catch cold.

No nonononononononononoononoono!!! And I'm not over reacting here or acting out a lifelong frustration. Well, actually I am. If you got trussed up in clothes that were more appropriate to an Exxon Valdez mop up than forty eight degrees in April, you'd go nuts at this step away from rational science too.

So I call her, Mom that is. Hi, back from business, yes, good flight, work was hard but I've got the weekend. Yep, got a bit of a cold.

No word of lie:

"Did you get caught without a jacket?"

Why, no. I had an appropriate jacket, stayed warm and dined on all kinds of biological spore at Cafe Come On Infect.

"You must have gotten wet and it was cold. Did it rain?"

I give up.

Germs are killed by heat or antiseptics like alcohol. So I'm cranking up the thermostat and pouring myself a cold one. As long as I don't get wet, I should be all right.

Bunny on.