This goes out to everyone who has ever asked me the question “why does it take you 10 minutes to wash one dish”. If you just stand with your eyes wide open gawking and confused, this is also for you.
For those of you who have never had the opportunity to do either, the reason the gawkers and the curious don’t just write me off as a germaphobe is because they know of my piggish ways. I am a mess to live with. Shit all over the place. No really. My stuff including but not limited to the following can be found in unsuspecting spots.
- Bobby pins
- Random USB
- Half eaten cookie
- chocolate wrappers
- Sketchbook and a set of pencils with one pencil missing
- Sample sized lotion
Then why do I scrub the dishes until I’m sore? The same reason I won’t let you sit on my bed with your “outside clothes” on or why I rub my feet against each before I get to bed. It’s also why if I accidentally touch the head of a spoon I can’t eat with it or why I would never use the Starbucks coffee lid at the top of the venti pile. I don’t enjoy the notion of swimming in the ocean either…..all that whale poop makes it “nope land”.
You see, I’m anal about what goes into my orifices. (Hehe. I made joke).
I feel like my body is a fortress protecting what’s inside. The skin is the wall and the orifices are my weak point. So I gaurd them from intruders. I mean if I don’t who will. And with all the nasty diseases out there just dying to make my body their lair, am I safe without the precautions I take? Which if you really think about it…is insane….and makes me sound bat shit crazy.
Which I probably am and fully embrace. However this part of my craziness causes me and my loved ones inconvenience so I’ve been trying to work on it.
And I’ve gotten better. Until recently if I was at a restaurant and had good reason to believe that the glass of water was potentially dirty I would go thirsty. But now I just close my eyes and pretend im drinking from a glass that was sterilized with FIRE.
I have also started sitting on my bed with my “outside clothes” on. But only on the edge. And only where my feet usually rest. Which is why they have their own corner of the blanket that must never touch my face. And god forbid you try to put anything but clean clothes on my bed. I will kick you in the balls. Or boobs. Whatever will hurt you more.
Oh look, we are back in batshit crazy territory again. I can’t give you a logical reason for the dishes or the bed or anything else I’ve exempted from this post. It’s just the way it is OK? How about you appreciate that I am so meticulously doing my dishes.
If you see me do dishes then chances are you ate off them. Aren’t you glad about how clean they are without any effort from your end? For the sake of your orifices?
I think you owe me gratitude. I’ll take that in the form of cash. You can leave it under the sofa where I’ll be sure to find it when I’m looking for my bobby pin/journal/pen/anything small that I own and can’t find.