Happy day, huh; read on and after reading this column you might throw yourself off the roof. Maybe, even jump off a cliff, or do yourself in with a wet spoon.

Several days ago, I was washing my hands in the men’s restroom at a restaurant when a guy emerged from a stall, and dashed out. Of course, he pulled the door handle, thus depositing germs, which being germs, were eager, in their little germ way to infect someone else.

On several occasions, I have been tempted to say, “What the hell is wrong with you? Didn’t your mom make you wash your hands?” That, shall I do, when the offender is at least 90 years old, walks with a crutch, and weighs no more than 100 pounds.

No luck, so far. For some reason people who are the least able to wash their hands, wash their hands. And one can forgive someone with Alzheimer, or swamped in dementia.

For most of us, the act of washing our hands finds no difficulty using soap, while rubbing them vigorously with hot water. We use paper towels, or dry our mitts under a blower.

Do not get me wrong; I am not a never-bend-the-rules guy; being American of not-distant Irish descent, I am mercurial, stubborn, and pugnacious – and heartedly hostile to group think, authoritarianism, and some bureaucrats.

Most of you are quite cognizant of the fact that America is the land of flash research, which rarely finds anything good to eat or drink; and resolutely committed to finding things wrong with things people like.

I draw the line at the latest flash research on alcohol, sugary drinks, coffee, trans-fat foods, and lollipops. They can all kill you, the experts proclaim. And, of course, having just eaten a greasy hamburger, even greasier fries, downed with a supersized soft drink, you will die.

The question is how long will demise take – minutes, hours, days, months, or years? Recently, I read about a 108-year-old woman, in perfect health, who has bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, toast slathered with real butter for breakfast.

We all have bad habits; one can become possessed by some, to the point at which the threat of death comes calling, and we toss aside our foibles in favor of staying above ground as long as possible.

The flash research on alcohol, conducted by the Women’s Temperance Union, found that one drink of alcohol can ruin your health. Were that the case, the hospitals and funeral homes would be groaning with business.

I am a religious man; and being a religious man, I want to take the elevator up, but having done some things wrong (being human), my destination is far from certain.

My idea of heaven does not conjured so much angels eternally singing, as it does a local bar featuring 16 brands of beer, and a variety of whisky, vodka (despite the fact that I hate Russians), rum, gin, brandy and tequila (I like Mexicans).

Wonder if the big guy will pick up the tab?