I do think the skin on my hands is about to shrivel up and perhaps fall off. I haven’t washed my hands this much since kindergarten. Call it flu phobia.
Anywhere you go in the building we have bottles of anti-bacterial hand wash standing by at the ready. Go into the break room or bathroom and you’re treated to a taped up primer on proper hand washing technique.
I remember Nurse Larry from the health department telling us it was all about the soapy friction getting the better of those evil germs. It seems there is an art to proper hand washing.
When somebody sneezes in the newsroom, the rest of us duck. We’re hoping they remembered to bury it in their sleeve, regardless of the potentially messy consequences. We try to breath air from the opposite direction. And then we go wash our hands just for good measure.
Between the swine flu and the flu flu, this promises to be one long paranoia laden season.
We’re told to get the shot and the mist, if it’s available; then hope for the best.
And wash your hands.
Maybe you carry your own personal bottle of sanitizer.
You know, I think I can see bone peeking through the wrinkled up skin on my fingers.
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