Airbourne Contagions

Apparently, germ warfare is alive and (not) well in New York City.

This morning, I innocently cradled my ginger-peach vitamin water as I entered the subway, excited to embark on an hour of uninterrupted headphone-wearing serenity. It is a gorgeous day in New York, I have plans to attend the Townhouse Spa Dream Ball tonight, and last night I engaged in wine, sushi, and brownies with some of my favorite people on the planet.

Alas, we knew such revel could not last.

My content tune-age is interrupted by a flutter of activity. As the quintessential suburban soccer mom enters (read: waist sack, unkempt, and frazzled), she ushers in a rather adorable but disturbed-looking child.

“Excuse us, can she sit next to you? She’s not feeling very well.”

Wonderful. I picture vomit soon to fall on my brand-new dress.

“Um, ok.” I hope what she has isn’t too bad. I’m not getting my teeth whitened until Friday, and after all I’ve been through, the least I deserve is death with white teeth.

The little girl sits down, ashen and dejected. Mother sits on the other side. Of course, this is the sort of threesome that enters my world.

“She woke me up this morning with 104 fever. I’m worried, the school sent a letter home that a very contagious strain of strep was going around.”

I listen and sigh politely, remembering several years ago when face masks were the style on the subway. Where are they when you need them?

I take a sip of my mineral water, wishing I still had shot packs in my possession and pointedly turn back to my headphones. If I’m about to be deathly ill, I’m going to enjoy myself while I can.

Mother keeps talking. Geez, maybe death wouldn’t be so bad.

“She’s been sick for days, and the fever just won’t go away.” Lovely. Perhaps she’s allergic to her mother.

Little girl looks down at her feet, sad. I commiserate.

Say your prayers.