For several weeks, during the height of New York's influenza epidemic, Father Anonymous proposed to the congregation where he was preaching that, rather than sharing Christ's peace by shaking hands, they offer each other a reverent bow, hands pressed prayerfully together on their chests.
This didn't work. Nor did those vaccines we got at Rite-Aid. Although the congregation seems healthy enough, our family all got miserably sick. The child was the first to fall, then Daddy, then Mommy -- who is only now starting to feel up to snuff.
For the first victim, a pediatrician prescribed Tamilu. Apparently, this stuff tastes like chalk, or sewage, or some other thing that reasonable people prefer not to ingest. Twice each day, young Kindergartener Anonymous put up a royal fight, kicking and howling and doing everything else in his (still-limited) power to avoid medication.
At the height of such a fit, and before his parents had taken ill, the boy was struck by a demonic inspiration.
"No, no, no," he shouted. "I won't take it, I won't! I'll stop you, I'll -- I'll -- I'LL GIVE YOU THE FLU!"
At which point, he reached out, grasped his mother's hand firmly, and said, "Peace be with you!"