Named By The Same Guy Who Couldn't Spell Socks

When I was around 11 or 12 years old, a wave of chicken pox hit my school. Almost everyone got it. Everyone except me and my next door neighbor. It seemed very clear to me why I did not get it. I went to my mother and said:

me: I'm immune.
mom: What?
me: I'm immune to chicken pox.
mom: But you never had them before.
me: I'm naturally immune.

My mom rolled her eyes and lit up a cigarette.

About a year later my neighbor got the pox and my mom rushed me over to be with him. She wanted me to get chicken pox while I was still a kid. I heard something about it causing sterility if a man got it as an adult. I protested, "But I'm immune!"

My pox covered friend was not much fun to be around but I endured. We sat around. Watched TV. Ate Lil' Smokies and frozen pizza bites. Actually, it wasn't much different than when he didn't have some disease.

A couple weeks later, with only a slight smirk and a glint in her eye, my mom said to me "Immune, huh? I'll get you some Caladryl. And stop scratching, you'll get scars."