A recent study by Prof. Charles Gerba of the University of Arizona, who has written close to a zillion scholarly articles about germs, showed that people ought to be more concerned about germs on their computer keyboards than about germs in the bathroom.

Turns out, according to Dr. Gerba, that the average computer keyboard has around 400 times more germs (4,000 per square inch) than does a toilet seat. Telephones are even worse offenders, with more than 20,000 of the little buggers per square inch. If you have to use the payphone, your first call ought to be to 9-1-1.

As a person who spends a great deal of time being grossed out by everyday things, I take Dr. Gerba's study to heart. But I think the good professor missed the most germ-infested items in our modern world: children.

Kids, in my opinion, are Petri dishes with legs. They never wash unless threatened, they wear the same clothes for days on end, and they continually stick their fingers in places embarrassed parents have to yell at them to stop sticking their fingers into. My own children sometimes walk in from playing so filthy they look like they've been pig wrestling.

I used to take some comfort in telling them to wash their hands before dinner until I overheard one child telling another that you can get away with just wetting hands under the faucet and parents won't know the difference.

I also used to make it a habit of eating all my kid's leftover pizza crusts, uneaten corners of cheeseburger, or whatever cereal was left in the bowl when they walked away from the table. My girls used to call me "Daddy Trash Can," but I never wanted to see good food go to waste.

Then one day, as I was finishing the remains of my son's PB& J sandwich, he decided he was still hungry and demanded the sandwich back. As I handed it to him, I caught sight of his fingers, streaked with mud, dried juice and some greenish substance I didn't really want to know about. Since then, I have made a vow: I would never eat anything that any child has touched. I haven't been sick since.

With apologies to Dr. Gerba, I believe he did not follow his study to its logical conclusion. If he had, he would have found that the average American child carries enough microbes per square inch to be covered in international treaties under the heading "biological weapons."

Children are the reason Mother Nature made germs invisible. If Suzy's parents could actually see all the germs crawling on their beautiful little angel, Suzy would be driven to the next town and left on the curb with a note around her neck asking someone to feed her some lunch.

My brother, after almost 40 years of non-procreation, recently had two children in the space of three years. I talked to him on the phone recently, and he sounded terrible.

"I don't understand," he said. "I've had head colds and stomach flu off and on for the past year. As soon as I shake one thing, I get another." My suggestion, that he consider foster care for his kids, was not warmly received.

The other day, I was at some sort of gathering at a local hall where they had punch and cookies. In addition to being a germophobe, I am a cookie fiend, especially sugar cookies with icing, and I made my way over to the table as soon as I saw a pile. Just as I was about to reach for an iced sugar cookie, the hostess came up to me to say hello and talk about something else. (I'm not sure exactly what it was, as I was now concentrating on only one thing: cookies.)

As she was talking and I was pretending to listen (It's actually very easy. Just nod slowly, and say "Uh uh" or "Hmmm" every 20 seconds), I noticed a small boy with a runny nose, dirty hands and, from the size of his lumpy rear end, still wearing a diaper under his jeans, go over to the cookie table. One by one, as my blood pressure rose, he wiped his hands on each and every cookie on the plate before finally selecting one. By then the woman was finished talking to me, and I had strangled out my last "Hmmm!" She turned to the table and waved at the homemade cookies.

"Have one!" she said. "They're delicious!"

I sighed.

"First," I said to her in a sad voice, "I have to go use the pay phone." Paging Dr. Gerba.....