As far as my husband was concerned, the only thing that could be said about a worm that was good, was that you could go out in the backyard, dig up a little bucket full of worms, take your rod and reel and go fishing. Worms were free and a bucket full of worms was good for a couple of hours of entertainment and a good fish fry. Fishing, he always figured, was cheaper than golfing.

My mother, on the other hand, detested worms. Nothing like biting in to a nice, juicy apple only to find out that the bite that you swallowed had an extra helping of protein. "Da ist der Wurm drin!". (In English, watch out for worms in apples). Worms rarely meant anything good. I have a tendency to agree with that. Just take your favorite pet to the vet and see how much it can cost to relocate a colony of worms from the cat to the litter box.

Mythology put an entirely different spin on it. What were known in the vernacular as big, really really big worms, were also known as dragons, the fire-breathing kind, and the kind that carried off kith and kin. That kind usually had wings and legs. Then there were those cute little worms my three-year old daughter discovered. Proud of the size of those worms, she brought me one. It is not easy to explain to a three-year old the difference between a harmless worm and a newly hatched cottonmouth. Imagine my surprise when I received an e-mail from Germany, warning me that there was a worm that could destroy my lovely little computer village.

My first inclination was to call the guru. Of course, my guru, being the person that he is would simply remind me that we had discussions about that before. When I called him, I approached the matter in an obtuse way. "Guess what?" I said. The guru does not like to guess: "I have decided to eliminate my address book." My guru was leery about that one too. "Might one inquire the reason for this action?"
"That way if I get the worm in my computer it can't get in to my address book." My guru finds my logic a little unique as well as oblique at times. My Grandmother referred to that as the action of a cat, getting the best of a saucer of milk without scalding that little tongue. "What is the first thing you do when you get an e-mail from an unknown source?"

"You delete it!" Of course, I knew that. I pointed out the parade of suffering victims retrieving their computers from the Fix-It place and paying for something, they may have avoided. Of course, my primary question is always the same, whether I ask it or not. What pleasure is there in an action that causes a lot of misery for a lot of people. Why would anyone want to do that? That question has no answer. That question is as old as the history of man.

"How often have you had that problem?" the guru asked. I had to admit that I'd had that problem only once, when I responded to that infamous teddy-bear virus and eliminated an important file. Not only that, I sent that warning to most of my e-mail acquaintances. What to do about virus and worm things that appear as incoming e-mail? I am practicing deleting.

I keep the Norton anti-virus updated and hope that I am of no importance to any hacker with evil intentions. After all, half a worm is more protein than I care to swallow with my apple.