I’ve always been easily disgusted, but I had an incident that made me realize I may be starting down a slippery slope toward OCD. The bathrooms offshore are, for lack of a better word, compact. (A realtor would call it “cozy”) The shower is on one side, and the toilet is on the other (A whole 1.5 feet away). There is no shower curtain, so the bathroom floor has a drain in the middle because if you can imagine everything gets wet. The entire bathroom is essentially the shower.
Well one day I dropped the soap. Let me stop you right there before your mind wanders– it’s a private bathroom. The problem with this particular soap dropping incident was that the soap landed right in front of the toilet. Given that this bathroom has been used by many men before me, and the front of the toilet being the most likely place for drippage (aka dribbleage) to occur, (and also that I’m pretty sure I once saw the maid scrubbing the floor with the toilet brush) I wasn’t about to take any risks…
So I did what any OCD person would do – I washed the bar of soap. This seems fundamentally impossible (not to mention ridiculous). Can a bar of soap even get dirty? And how do you clean a cleaning agent? Simple!
With Comet. Comet cleans everything - even other soaps. Comet could even clean Kevin Federlines nasty ass.
So there I was, scrubbing my soap with Comet until I felt safe enough to use it again. I eventually scrapped off an entire layer before I deemed it worthy to touch my arm pits.
I should note that I was covered in grease and the liquified remains of dinosaurs that hasn't seen the earths surface in over 150 million years, but none of that compares to human bodily fluids. Gross.
2 comments:
FYI, I'm starting to get more grossed out lately too. When we were at a rather "rustic" RV park on the road trip, we had to use the public facilities for showers. It was difficult to shower while not touching anything at all. And some kind person had left a bar of soap behind to share! Egads.
Chris,
I spent WWII in Baltimore where my dad worked in the shipyard building Liberty Ships for the war effort. His idea of preparing me for life, and as it turned out for having a grandson like you, was his bringing home from the shipyard jokes. I traded with him by bringing home jokes from high school.
I couldn't repeat some of his jokes because my mother had trained me not to say certain words. I still wouldn't say one of them even if I had a mouthful of it.
My training continued in my being married to a military sergeant for 25 years. So, I understand your jokes and laugh out loud.
Your other grandmother wore army boots.
Love, Grandma
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