I'm gonna hold you anyway, and I'll do it without shaking

The next person who mentions the swine flu is probably going to condemn me to a permanent medical case of chronic eye-rolling. Like mad cow disease, like bird flu, and like the anthrax scare, the threat of swine flu doesn't strike the terror in my heart that it apparently does the rest of Americans. In this particular epidemic-in-progress, not only do the flu symptoms not significantly differ from regular-type flu (meaning that if you're not terribly old or young and in relatively good health, it's highly unlikely you're going to die from it), but as of this morning, only 40 cases had been found in the U.S. To give perspective to the more statistically inclined, that would be .0000001% of the population at large.

Of course, disease panics like these always conjure up a familiar sensation for me, one that has followed me (and probably Cathi) since elementary school, which can be roughly labeled, "I ain't afraid of no germs" or alternatively, "dirtier than thou." My mom has never claimed to be a clean freak. Cathi and I became intimately acquainted with the 10-second rule while most kids' parents were acclimating them to the smell of bleach. We grew up knowing that it was important to shower and wash our hands and brush our teeth and everything, but my sister and I were never full-fledged members of the Lysol generation. We are generally, I've noticed, less concerned with germs or catching colds in comparison to our sanitized peers.

Whether or not it has anything at all to do with this upbringing, I like to point out, whenever the subject comes up, that I hardly ever get sick. I usually irritatingly imply that the defenses I've built up by being exposed to small amounts of bacteria here and there are probably what allowed me to grow my lungs of steel, compared to the wimpy McCoughs-a-lots who insist on carrying pocket-sized antibacterial hand gel.

To be fair, though, if people like me existed during the Black Plague or the Influenza of 1910, we were surely the first to die for not heeding the proper precautionary measures. I think that my ambivalence is partially the product of the attitude so condemned in PSAs that "it can't happen to me." My eupeptic hubris is going to have to catch up with me sometime, and when it does, chances are I won't be wearing a medical mask.

Though you could also argue that my karma in this area has already been paid by the fact that in the last 15 years, without engaging in extreme motor sports or stunt doubling, I've broken three bones, had orthopedic surgery once, and gotten stitches five times.