Red and Rover (3/8/11)

A few weeks ago, I came down with a run-of-the-mill cold. My head didn’t hurt, my throat wasn’t sore, and I wasn’t particularly congested, but I did have to blow my nose almost constantly. I filled wastepaper baskets with wadded-up bits of tissue paper, and grew paranoid about washing my hands after each expelling of snot. A soon as I felt better, I washed my bedsheets so I wouldn’t have to stew in my own germs. Not once did I consider fouling my sheets by using them as a makeshift handkerchief. In fact, the thought of pulling a set of mucus-encrusted covers up to my chin, even while sick, makes me want to reach for the antibacterial soap or, better yet, the bleach.

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