Sketch-y Behaviors

I usually don’t wash my hands after using the bathroom. I’m the youngest of five, and I think somewhere down the line my mom just assumed one of my sisters or brothers would teach me about personal hygiene (they didn’t). In the seventh grade, a boy I had a crush on said I had gross teeth. I said “I brush my teeth every day” Just every day. Not twice a day. No flossing. Mouth wash? Nope. He pointed out the rules and turned away from me to talk to the pretty girls next to us in the bleachers. I felt the crimson shame creep up my face. 

Hand washing is one of the most important rules to good hygiene. But old habits die hard, and I just can’t always remember I’m supposed to soap up. I sometimes wonder if all these times I think I’m having a hypochondria-related cold, it’s really just my body fighting off infection from nasty poopy-peepee hands. Or from my nasty barely brushed teeth. 

I probably have super human immunity by this point. 

I get irritated whenever someone else is in the bathroom at work. Just like if 2 chatterboxes come into my elevator on the floors below me at work (Why did you stop talking as soon as the doors closed? You ruined my peaceful solitude and made it weird in here. I mean, the awkward air is palpable. Thank goodness the doors opened and you can resume your painful small talk. Fuckin’ weirdos. “Have a nice day!”). When other people are in the bathroom, it means I have to get to scrubbing. 

Now, partially because I have guilty conscious, and partially because I gotta show these women up, I really scrub. Like, the full “working as a server in a restaurant” scrub. 30-45 straight seconds. And I like to give judgey face to the women next to me who are basically just rinsing their fingers. 

“That’s all the effort you’re putting in? Gross.”