Monday, December 7, 2009

An open letter to my son.

Dearest Zachary:

Why did it have to come to this? I was prepared to deal with a drug habit, a knocked-up girlfriend, even grand theft auto. You, however, choose to rebel by picking up a sliced tomato that fell on the floor and eating it -- right in front of me.

I know. I know. I have only myself to blame. You are the son of the Hygiene Hunter and we live in an altered reality, a safe haven, a bubble where bleach flows from the taps. I know. I know. I am just like Henry VIII who created hyper-sterile living conditions for his beloved son Edward. I know. I know. If only I would have hugged you and your sister more often as you were growing up. As you can appreciate, that would require touching. Blah, blah, blah.

Seriously, now how can I sleep at nights worrying about whether or not you're eating off public floors?


Your mother,
Hygiene Hunter.


  1. How about drinking from a cup left behind?... just yesterday, my husband & I browsed through a book store. Coffee? he said, I gladly agreed while busily perousing interior design magazines. He leaded me to the table he had selected.. at the table I found a cup of coffe warm, not hot... I zipped a bit then I went to him still standing at the counter. "honey, could you please ask them if this can be hotter?" puzzled he asked me: "Where did you got this cup?! I have yours here." I was shocked!! I zip from a left behind cup filled with what ever germs the right ower had. AHHHHH! panic and fear gripped me from head to toe... here I am monitoring my insides and my temperature.

    Yes, HH, eating off public floors is as disgusting as drinking from a left behind somebody's cup. Yuck!