An anonymous commenter dared me to touch a urinal in NYC. A well-visited one I presumed. I thought, "What a charmingly bad idea." As in any good brainstorm one so-so idea leads to a brilliant one. So as not to disappoint my challenger, I decided my husband would step into a dirty puddle on my behalf. My husband didn't know about my delicious idea. A little dipsy-doodle on my part as we walked to Omen for dinner and his left foot, sock, shoe and pant leg became unwilling participants. He walked back to the hotel to soak his foot in boiling water while I enjoyed sake at the restaurant. In my opinion, a successfully executed dare. I have the drycleaning receipt to prove it. Hit.
Three verifiable things about me. One. I am an only child. The concept of sharing, therefore, is foreign to me. Two. I am a Virgo. The sign regarded as a perfectionist. Three. My mother raised me to be meticulously clean; compulsively tidy. According to my mother, "You have taken this clean thing way too far." I disagree. Apologies to my mother.
Nature or nurture? Who knows? Who cares? I have not been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Nor would I label myself a Cleanaholic. Or a Germaphobe. My world though, is definitely a unique place. One where doors open magically. Hotel mattresses are pristine. And estheticians never double dip.
I live in this world without a bubble or a honeycomb mask. About 15 years ago I got tired of catching the flu du jour and became ever more so hygienically vigilant -- perhaps obsessively so.
Just keep telling yourself it's only mushroom soup.
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