Cootie Immunity
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Flu shots were such a big deal last year. I’m almost disappointed
we had enough to cover everyone last fall. I’ve only had the flu
a couple of times in my life, but those few times have taught me
something very valuable: I hate the shot more than I hate the
flu. Here’s a little equation I worked out that helped me reach
this conclusion. Number of days I’ve had a sore arm from the flu
shot in my life – 54. Number of days I’ve actually had the flu in
my life – 14. 54-14=40. That “40” represents the number of
times I experienced overwhelming pain and suffering every time I moved
my arm. Absolutely awful. With flu symptoms, I can at least
still function (to some degree) but, if I can’t move my arm, I’m
practically paralyzed. I just sit there, point at what I want,
and yell obscenities until someone gets me what I want. In all fairness, I’m a bit of a wuss. If you psychoanalyze me, I’m sure you’d see that my real hatred of the flu shot stems from my extreme hatred of the cootie shot. Cooties were such a huge deal back in the day! They were like the Mad Cow Disease of the school yard. I’ve had enough time to heal, so I don’t mind telling you something I’ve kept secret all of these years. In 1992, I contracted cooties. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed and alone. There was no one I could turn to, because admitting I had cooties would be like admitting I had touched a girl. That was just something I wasn’t willing to do. I remember those long recess periods where I would just stroll along by myself, recounting the events that took place and trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Lucky for me, there was a cure. A girl came up to me and said, “I heard you have cooties.” Without making direct eye contact, I said it was true. She wanted me to give her my arm, so I stretched it out and she yanked it closer. She pulled an ink pen from her pocket and drew squiggly lines and circles all over my forearm. All the while I’m standing there in disbelief as she chants, “Circle, Circle, Dot, Dot, now you have your cootie shot,” over and over again. She finished up and I looked at the damage. How was I going to explain this to my parents? Great, now instead of cooties, I had leprosy. This is my plea to all of those kids still dealing with cooties. Listen, if a girl gives you a cootie shot, snatch the pen from her hand and draw on her, her face, her clothes, everywhere. Just remember to keep chanting, “Blank, Blank, Line, Line, now your stupid soul is mine!” You may not have that many friends afterward, but at least you won’t have to deal with those stupid shots anymore. id shots anymore. |