Hello.

So I’ve been threatened into getting back to the blogging. Well, threatened is a strong word. Let’s just say that when hired thugs break into your home and leave horse heads in your bed, it’s time to write.

Today is National Handwashing day. Or was that yesterday? I can’t keep track.

Either way I am all for the washing of hands. Here’s why.

Once upon a time back in the oh, let’s say 1800’s ish, there was a pandemic. No, not the flu. It’s was a  world wide problem that stumped doctors. Women were dying in record numbers after giving birth. The babies sometimes survived, sometimes not. This was called Childbed Fever. And for the life of them no one could figure out why this was happening. Until one American genius hit upon the solution. Doctors and medical students were stealing bodies for dissection. It was an unsanitary time. After digging up and dissecting the dead they would go into the birthing ward and check on their patients. This meant shoving their hands into a woman’s delicate bits to make sure everything was all right. Which it probably was up until this point. Later the women would inevitably die, having been given blood poisoning by their doctors. The necrotic microbes on the bodies of the dead, the ones that exists to turn us back into dust, infected these women from the dirty hands of their doctors, and killed them within three to ten days of their exam. Eventually Oliver Wendell Holmes figured out that if doctors began to WASH THEIR HANDS this would stop happening. And it did. Amen.

So lather, rinse, repeat whenever you dig up a  dead body for dissection. It’s the right thing to do and a tasty way to do it. Or is that Oatmeal? I forget.

Dogwoman