You ever want to dye your hair, change your name to Priscilla and move to New York where you will find work as a taxi driver by day/ exotic dancer by night?
Me neither.
But when I'm stressed, even though I'd never actually do it, I go ahead and mentally do it. In my head, I have already decorated my apartment, gotten my taxi driving license and choreographed an act involving fire batons and a trained monkey. I'm in a New York state of mind, Baby. It's my happy place.
So why am I so stressed that my mental monkey and I are dancing for tips in my head? One word: germs!
It's cold and flu season, otherwise known to people with OCD as HELL. There are germs and germy people every where I turn. People are hacking, snotting, puking, coughing, oozing, wiping, blowing and wheezing and based upon my observations, they are doing it as close to me as they possibly can. It's a conspiracy as big as that whole moon landing shebang.
Why do germy people want to be near me so that they might in some way expel something disgusting upon me? Can you tell me that? What is it about me that screams, "I heart bodily fluids"?
I went shopping over the weekend. Mistake number one. Everywhere I went someone with a red and leaking nose wanted to stand near me or in one frightening episode, actually touch me. Mothers wiped tiny snotty noses and then rifled through hanging clothes while little germy juniors cried, "Mommy, I don't feel good!" To my ears, that's the same as an air raid siren.
If Lysol made body suits, I would have them in every color.
Mr. Man, who is typically not only tolerant of my fear of germs, but who on a regular basis actually buys for me bags of items from Wal-Mart with the words "disinfect" and "kills germs" somewhere on the packaging, sometimes briefly forgets who I am. He mistakenly thinks I have a sense of humor about germs and people who have them.
"Did you see that woman?" he asked me at the mall the other day. "She was wearing a mask. Maybe she has SARS."
He laughed. I did not laugh.
"Thank you for pointing that out, you sweet, sweet man," I said. "We should head home now. I'm going to need you to boil me."
Please send all mental monkey name suggestions to humorwriter@gmail.com. I'm leaning toward Cletus.
Copyright © 2004-2005, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.
Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com
Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.
Visit Ms. Crazy On Her Face Online
No comments:
Post a Comment