It amazes me that so few people wash their hands after touching so many potentially nasty—or definitely nasty—objects. I'm not even particularly germ-phobic. I just think that after, say, getting sweaty and rolling around on an exercise mat—one that hundreds of other people have gotten sweaty and rolled all over—folks would want to take advantage of the fact that there's free soap in the locker room. Does the potential chain of events that can result from such sharing of funk not occur to people? Little Susie and her mom go to Toronto to visit Grandma and Grandpa. While they're there, little Susie meets little Johnny in the park. They indicate that they like each other by sticking the same toy in both of their mouths. BAM! Little Susie has the SARS. But no one knows that yet, and since everybody's so happy to be together as a family, they get nice and close. They're cozy like that. After they return home, Little Susie's mom stops in at Ballys for yoga at 9:30 on Friday, downward-facing-dogs all over the damn place, and politely hands you her mat as you show up for the 10:30 class. BAM! You've got the SARS! Remember breathing? Yeah, that used to be fun!

It's not just exercise mats, either. I read that Camus book. You think your antibacterial lotion will do the trick? You know, the kind you just pump onto your hands and rub in? The kind that doesn't require water? The kind that legions of future ebola virus carriers have decided is really cool, because using it means they never have to go near a sink again? No ho ho HO! Your antibacterial lotion is powerless in the face of the fact that a ship from Syria brought a bunch of rats to Marseilles, the Syrian rats got themselves some French fleas, and the French fleas stopped for a rest in your Californian coat, which you got at a fabulous vintage clothing store for $12. BAM! You've got the buboes! Wet Wipes can't help you now!

You'll probably set your coat down on top of the exercise mats at the gym, too. Just to make sure everyone dies.