STRIKE WHILE THE IRONY IS HOT

A friend said that if I'm looking for something fun to read, try Gene Weingarten.  He's like a Jewish Dave Barry.  Jay was on his way to the library, so I asked him to bring me any of Weingarten's books.

JAY:  What's the title?
MOLLIE:  I don't know; I think they're collections of essays.  Pick one out.

Necessary digression:  I'm germaphobic, especially about (1) using that stylus-type pen to sign for my Visa purchases on the swipe-your-card machine at the grocery store — and, even better, at the store's pharmacy, because who used it last?  A SICK person, vuh den?  I carry Purell in my purse! — and (2) library books.  They have that plastic covering on them that seems to grab onto grime that you can FEEL — mystery schmutz.    So when Jay got home and handed me the book, I took it to the kitchen and followed my normal routine, washing with a soapy rag the cover of a library book whose title I finally looked at:  "The Hypochondriac's Guide to Life.  And Death."