Growing up, I was free as a bird. It was not uncommon to find me hanging from a tree, sitting in the grass, or walking down the street barefooted. I even looked through our kitchen trash can to find things I could magically turn into a work of art.
When my mother was pregnant with my sister she had a craving for dirt, so there I was in the middle of the night digging up dirt for my mother without giving what I was doing a second thought. I touched door handles, wore shorts to the movies, ate at buffets, and wore shoes in the house. The truth is, I did a lot of things unconsciously that definitely increased my chances of coming in contact with some type of germ.
But something strange happened after I got married (yay, 15 years of marital bliss) and had my first child thirteen years ago. The more I read or listened to the news about some kind of germ, the more I started over analyzing my environment. I stopped touching public doors and elevator buttons without something to protect my skin; I did and continue to spend several minutes in a public restroom lining the toilets with at least six toilet seat covers and several strips of toilet paper before sitting my little one on it. I even went as far as spraying it down with Lysol before proceeding with my toilet wrapping ritual.
It eventually spilled over to my son, who at two would not use a public restroom if it was dirty. He would literally kick and scream if I attempted to walk him through the doors. He would hold it until we found a clean restroom. Would you believe this kid never wet his pants? The hubby says, “You’re making our kids crazy.” What does he know!?
I cringe whenever someone tells me they’re coming to visit my home because the only thing I can think about is them sitting my sofa. You see in my mind I’m thinking this person probably went to the movies, sat down in those fecal matter filled seats before getting in their car, and you know I’m thinking those germs are going to be transported to my sofa then tracked all through the house. And let’s not talk about their belonging sitting on my floor.
In fact, no one in my household sits on the sofa with their outside clothes on. As soon as we come home from an outing, we (the hubby, Monsieur D, Monsieur G, and even Mademoiselle) immediately change into our inside clothes. Before company arrives I usually drape blankets and sheets over the sofa. We don’t wear shoes in the house, and everyone is to quickly wash their hands. I rarely go to the movies. I’d rather wait for the video, but if I do go you can rest assure I’m protecting my body. I can’t even sit comfortably for fear I will touch the seat. By the end of the movie, my back is killing me.
This is nothing compared to how I used to be. At one time, I could not shake another persons had without silently freaking out. Though I’ve made some drastic changes, I’m still a germaphob and will continue doing the above (plus some other things) along with spraying the shopping cart with Lysol before using some additional protection for Mademoiselle like this adorable shopping cart cover by Snazzy Baby.
And of course, I and my cousin Lorena, who is a germaphob to the tenth power (yes, she’s worse than I am), can’t put our purses on the floor in a restaurant. Thanks to Luxe Link for creating a chic device to keep your purse off the icky ground, and kick your fabulocity factor up a notch!
