My husband came through with a Sublet Hunting For My Son In New York On A Budget shortlist. He even had the foresight to tour one of the properties. I said, "Let's start with that one." He made me feel like a hard to please person:( with his cautionary and emphatic disclaimer "Well, I like it." Reminder. I am not person. Nor a devil. Hygiene Hunter. Not an excuse. A given. The property is in SoHo, it is affordable and the owner is friendly. I am suspicious. And then ... I love what I see! In the ICK! Shared bathroom! I remind myself this place is for my son, not me. SANI WIPES ON THE TOILET TOP! Too perfect! I am suspicious! Did my husband plant the wipes there? To please me?
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.
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