I spent the last few days attempting to inspect my mattress at the Opus Hotel in Vancouver. As hard as I tried to find an opening in my bed-in-a-bag, I couldn't. So what did I do? Unlike a disgruntled hockey "'fan" I didn't torch it. Since the cover was stain-free I, The Hygiene Hunter, decided to let loose and just sleep on it. Ah, the faith I havet in the Opus. Unbelievable! When I woke up the following morning I didn't even grow an extra head. I do, however, plan to learn more about this impenetrable mattress cover.
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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