the overusage of lysol

Today I heard about this woman (let's pretend her name is 'Loma,' which is, actually, her real name) who has been plagued with a fatal form of cancer. In light of the recent events, she's now taking extreme precautions to protect herself against the threat of Anthrax. So, obviously, the first step would be to find some sort of weak-willed orderly that would abide to her every request, even if her request happened to be, uh, frighteningly pathetic.

The orderly chosen? Her husband.

Her husband has been strictly instructed to leave all magazines in the mailbox -- they may contain Anthrax. Naturally.

His second command was to thoroughly spray the remaining mail with Lysol.

First of all, I think I'd rather die of Anthrax instead of cancer, if I had to make the choice. Cancer is prolonged suffering, whereas Anthrax is a day of mild discomfort.

Secondly... I realize that the most basic human instict is to preserve one's life, but I draw the line somewhere after it begins to make me look like a complete dumbass.