I’m pretty sure God is the only one who knows how truly neurotic I really am. But my husband is a close second. The other day he told me that if I get any more germaphobic he’s gonna have to put me away. Provided my padded cell is regularly sterilized, I think I could live with that.
In addition to Cloroxing doorknobs, household surfaces, and random strangers at King Soopers, I also lace my kids’ orange juice with Echinacea and have achieved the enviable title, OCD Handwashing Nazi.
I’ve also introduced Family Gargle Time. We tried to come up with a catchy slogan. “The family that gargles together—something something something—together.” Turns out the word gargle rivals the word orange in its dazzling array of rhyming options.
You might be surprised to hear that my boys don’t give me any trouble at all about their nightly warm saltwater gargle. If you know me even in passing, you know I have a top notch gag reflex and the projectile power to back it up. Each night I struggle not to puke while I gargle. But the boys? They love it! I’m not kidding. And to prove it to you, here’s a sound clip of a special performance they gave a couple nights ago.
That was a real treat, wasn’t it?
And now, it’s time to go wash my hands, and my keyboard, and my earphones, and that plastic pumpkin over there, and the neighbor’s dog, and the sidewalk…