It’s time to rewrite the book on the world’s secular Christmas story. If we must have a Santa Claus, I’d prefer him to be a Super Hero type. We already know he can leap buildings and cross skies with impossibly gifted reindeer who are guided by all things, a red nose beacon. However I want Santa this year to do something really Herculean; I want him to spread more sanitizer and less ho-ho-ho.
I don’t care what errand I do or where I travel, I feel as if I have been banished to a tuberculosis ward. Hacking and coughing by every known pedestrian and customer around me occurs daily. Never mind their loogy inducing sputum, is the bane of my existence. For me, trying to stay healthy during the holiday season is tantamount to being the last runner in the Pamplona Running of the Bulls and having a club foot. It’s going to end painfully and you know where.
I feel like a National Basketball star each time I enter a store for my agility. As I traverse the store aisles, I dodge, weave and try to avoid every sniffle, cough, and wheeze. It gives me a whole new meaning to the greeting, “Have a safe holiday.” To make matters worse, relatives call and say, “I know I’m vomiting like a fire hose, and I sound like an asthmatic aardvark, but can we still come if we stay upstairs?” Haven’t you heard that everything trickles down; economics, pay raises, germs? No, you can’t stay upstairs, I’ve placed a bed in the carport closet and I’ll slide your chicken broth under the door.
I’d consider getting the flu shot, but from everyone I’ve spoken to who’s received it, the end results were the same. It inoculated your body from last years flu strain but not this year’s. If I want to feel like I’ve been hit my a Mack truck, I’ll step in front of a Mack truck.
You’d think everyone would be healthier this year. Outside temperatures have been balmy and perfect for outdoor activities. Yet, it seems everyone is ill. I’m doing everything I know how to do to stay healthy. I’m popping vitamins like Skittles, drinking enough water to fill a camel hump, and I’ve eschewed anything that looks like it tastes good (including cookies). This Christmas I don’t want a Santa, I want a Santa-tizer. I want him spreading germ killer all over the world like he’s a Nebraska Crop Duster.
I think it may be the proper time now to unpack my surgical white mask and gown from last season. Despite my quest for wellness, I remain undaunted. I might look like a Beijing resident when walking around in my get-up, but at least from the world’s perspective, my looks have improved. Merry Cough-mess everyone.