Monday, August 18, 2008
Airport brownie will not kill you.
I'm kind of a variation of the OCD of Monk and the clutziness/ditziness of Lucille Ball. I go to great lengths to antibacterialize my house, carry hand sanitizer at all times and compulsively wash my hands. Even though I do have some hobbies that wouldn't be typical of a person like me such as 4-wheeling and fishing, I still have antibacterial wipes in my tackle box so my compulsion does not escape me. I hand mop my floor to get all the bacteria out of every little crevice and then forget I've mopped it, (The Lucille part kicking in) walk across it and then proceed to fall on my ass or worse slide into the sliding glass door. (Then I have to clean the smudges off so it's even more work) I can't let crumbs sit on the counter or floor for more than a minute. I'm also probably inflicting my offspring with future OCD problems on their own as they have to wash their hands after touching even the most trivial things. (My daughter has learned to just roll her eyes and ignore me but my son is still under my influence) All of this painstaking work to try to make sure that there are no nasty little bacteria waiting in the corner to invade and cause illness. To further compel my insanity I work in a hospital and watch TLC constantly which is not a good combination. Out of all of this effort, I would think that some of my cleanliness and germaphobe mentality would have struck my son. However walking through the airport I realized it has not. My son was hungry begging me to get him a snack. We were in a hurry to catch the flight so I kept saying to wait until we got on the plane, trying to make those stupid little bags of peanuts sound better than steak. In his impatience for my reluctance to walk back out to the vending machines he discovers a solution to his problems. A brownie, unwrapped, half smashed into the floor, cobwebs rising from its surface probably circa 1995, laying in the corner of the floor. He decides that this will be perfect to sustain his hunger until we get on the flight. As he places the brownie into his mouth I start yelling "NOOOOO!!!" at the top of my lungs and running at him in what seemed like movie slow motion, tripping over a luggage bag (Lucille Ball again), finally reaching him, grabbing the remainder of the brownie out of his hand, and demanding he spit it out. In defiance he swallowed. I thought my heart was going to fall out of my chest, speechless running a quick list through my head of every bacteria that could have possibly been on that brownie, my daughter all the while laughing her head off in amusement and my son sitting there with a sly grin on his face. After the initial dismay at what my son did finally parted (and after religiously scubbing his hands and mine for touching the brownie) I watched him for the remainder of the vacation for any signs of fever and lethargy. Long story short he survived unscathed, no illness, and upon recounting the story to my mother she informed me he's done things of this nature before and she didn't tell me so I didn't get my OCD panties in a wad. So maybe I need to relax a little, maybe throw a few of those containers of antibacterial wipes that safe guard my life away and let a little dirt invade. I still can't let the ones in my purse go, or the ones in the car for that matter. Maybe I'll get rid of the ones in the tackle box. Baby steps, baby steps. Monday I even let some crumbs sit on the floor for about 15 minutes longer than I usually do before I wiped them up and resanitized. I'm even going to try to go for a day without cleaning at all. (Although I do realize statistically my compulsion will probably win over maybe I can go for at least a few hours) Maybe I won't change over night, maybe never, but one thing people can say for now, you truly can eat off my kitchen floors.