Warning! Warning! That wimpy little dishrag stretched idly over the kitchen faucet can be lethal. Ditto for the grungy sponge on the counter. Killer germs are taking over our kitchens and according to the contamination commandos, we'd better disinfect or die.

This disturbing news comes directly from experts like Charles Gerba, a microbiologist from the University of Arizona who claims, "You'd be better off eating a carrot stick that fell in your toilet than one that fell in your sink." I'll remember that the next time I take my salad in the bathroom.

The rationale for this statement is supported by the fact that people expect to find germs in the bathroom and disinfect accordingly, but forgo the deep-clean in the kitchen.

"This is not your mother's kitchen anymore," says Alan Levy of the FDA. "The world is changing, but our kitchen practices are not."

Favorite hangouts for kitchen germs include cutting boards, sinks, and refrigerator handles of all places. So what's a slob to do? According to the experts, scalding hot water and liberal doses of Lysol on every available surface should protect you and your loved ones from gut-wrenching illness or death.

The last time I really scoured my kitchen was about three months ago when I hosted my Bunko group. I seriously scrubbed my cutting board and counters, knowing full-well that any stray micro-bacterium would surely be eradicated by Tequila spills.

The sink was Cometized but I've never in my life cleaned the refrigerator handle intentionally. I may have put my family's health in jeopardy and never known it. All those times I rinsed little chicken legs and thighs in the sink, spewing fowl juice everywhere including on my hands... grabbing the fridge's handle, pulling open the door in search of a Coke. Moving the jars and bottles of condiments, rolling the tomatoes out of the way until my germ-ridden hand found the Coke. My God, the entire contents of my refrigerator was contaminated. Not to mention the handles on the drawers, cabinets, paper towel dispenser, faucets, stove knobs, etc. etc. My kitchen had to be teeming with menacing microbes.

Oh, the guilt. No wonder my daughter complained of a tummy ache the other day. One of those nasty germs had leached into her delicate system.

I called the kids together and explained to them as calmly as possible that we were under attack. "It's time to fight back," I told them. "Take no prisoners." Wipe out every last despicable germ in the place."

We entered the war zone armed with buckets of hot, hot Pine-Sol scented water, rolls of paper towels and hands gloved in yellow rubber. For two hours, we scrubbed everything in sight and even the stuff that was out of sight for fear of silent assassins. I nearly passed out from the smell of disinfectant.

When the job was done, the kitchen sparkled and smelled like a hospital operating theater. The floor and counter tops mirrored our exhaustion. We stood back in admiration and suddenly the biggest Palmetto bug I ever saw marched defiantly across the floor. My daughter screamed and I quickly removed my Ked and beat it senseless. The sight of insect innards on the spotless linoleum was too much. I wrapped it in a strip of paper towel, tossed it in the trash and poured the last drop of Pine-Sol on the crime scene.

When it was time for dinner, we put our well-done hamburgers, and well-scrubbed salad leaves topped with carrot shavings on paper plates and headed for the bathroom.

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