I've been accused of being a germaphobe and I guess that's probably pretty much on target. I don't like germs. I wash my hands so often that they are usually red and crackly. I don't have to use a new bar of soap every time I wash them like Jack Nicholson in "As Good As It Gets" but I do prefer bars that don't have hairs curled around them. I'm funny that way.
I don't like to share drinks or silverware with people, although I'll gladly pour you your own glass or give you something off my plate. I just find it hard to work up a good thirst when handed a bottle or cup with five other people's backwash in it. I'm funny that way, too. Even as a child on a family trip, I would rather go without than drink from the communal cup. I took a lot of teasing for that.
When I'm cooking, I use a clean spoon to scoop a taste out of the pot and then throw the spoon in the sink. I don't take tastes from the spoon I'm stirring the food with and then add my saliva back into the pot like it's a required ingredient. Requests that others do the same while in my kitchen sampling my cooking have been met with eye-rolls and derision. I can live with that easier than I can live with your germs swimming in my stew.
I know I take germ avoidance farther than most of the people with whom I associate, but what boggles me is how many rules for cleanliness I think are elementary but other people find ridiculously overzealous. I'll share with you a couple of examples I witnessed recently:
Rule 1.) Don't take the cloth I wash dishes with and use it to wipe your two-year-old's nose, then turn and wipe down my counter with it. When I questioned the logic of this, I was surprised to find that other people don't mind a few toddler boogies mixed in with their main course and my objections were misplaced. Who knew?
Rule 2.) When you're in your own home, touch anything you want with anything you want, but when you are at a public event, sitting at a table with other diners, and you want more ice in your water, don't stick your hand in the pitcher on the table and scoop a few out with your fingers. Apparently, you know where your fingers have been, but I don't, and to be honest, I don't want to know. I also now don't want any water from that pitcher.
Rule 3.) If you are going to be an angel and help unload my dishwasher, please wash your hands. I appreciate the assistance, really I do, but if I've just watched you change your baby's diaper or scratch my dog's belly, anything you put away is going right back into the dishwasher the moment you aren't looking. I love your baby and I love my dog, but I don't want to lick either one.
Rule 4.) Turning on the water and wiggling the tips of your fingers under it for ten seconds is not washing your hands. This does not scare the germs between your fingers and on your palms into jumping off into the sink.
Rule 5.) The trash can is for holding trash. It has held poopy diapers, dog vomit, used tissues, moldy food, and a myriad of other substances that have been put there precisely because they are garbage. Please don't use the trash can as a place to rest my pillow while you change the sheets, or move food items from the counter onto the trash can to get them out of the way. As much as I enjoy falling asleep with the smell of garbage nestled against my cheek, I can't help but wonder if it's a good idea.
Rule 6.) If you are eating a meal in my house and I've inadvertently neglected to put a serving spoon into one of the dishes, please ask for one instead of thrusting your hand into the salad to grab your helping, shaking off the bits you don't want. Nobody else wants those bits now either.
Now that you know some of my basic rules, you can see that I'm definitely a headcase. These are all real life examples that I witnessed and in most cases, said nothing since I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. I'm not a total and complete germaphobe. If I was, my house would be cleaner, and I definitely wouldn't have all the pets I have, especially the two dogs who have never met a stink they didn't want to roll in, yet sleep next to me on my bed. They probably smell worse than the pillow that sat on the garbage can.
I've totally ruined my husband. I took a man who used to buy lunch from the back of the food vendors' trucks in the city and gobble down the sandwiches with his grimy fingerprints visible on the bread, and turned him into a man who carries wet wipes in his truck and knows how to use Purell! He even regals me with tales of the gross things his co-workers on the construction sites do, things he wouldn't have even noticed ten years ago and probably was doing himself. It took about a decade, but I've dragged him to the dark side, the side where food dropped on the ground must be thrown away even if it only lay there for three seconds and where pocket lint is no longer a garnish.
My germaphobe world is a mostly quiet world. I have converted my husband and made some progress with my daughters, but it's hard to tactfully tell people outside your immediate family that you find what they just did disgusting. I usually try to find a way to rectify the situation--wipe it down with Lysol when you turn your back or discreetly empty it in the trash and make a fresh batch--but if I can't, I just say, "No, thanks," when you offer me soup that I saw your forehead sweat drip into or pass me a cookie with the same hand your pitbull just licked.
I know I'm not alone in my world. There are other silent freaks like me out there bypassing the end of the buffet that a fellow guest just sneezed on and awkwardly waving instead of shaking the hand of the guy you just witnessed leaving the bathroom without stopping at the sink.
Those of us who yearn for basic standards of cleanliness in our everyday lives need to unite, to form an alliance, to reach out to each other.
Well, please don't literally reach out to me. I have no idea where your hands have been either.
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