Germs. Quivering, Gay Panda reads in MDA that dirt has been declared safe. My OCD revolves around three matters. The first is that whenever I leave the house, I fear that I’ve forgotten a lit candle or left the stove on, or an outlet is starting to spark, which will lead to a fire that will burn down the house and kill the kitty and destroy my beloved laptop, which is slightly dearer to heart than the kitty.
The second is that I have forgotten to lock the door, and someone will break into the house and steal my laptop and prance about in my snazzy purple clogs on the hardwood floors, and do dastardly things to the kitty, who is simply so dumb that she would look up to a panty-hose masked stranger with a pipe wrench and think he was there to feed her bacon.
The third obsession is germs. Once a week, after checking the outlets and stove and making sure no candles have magically lit themselves, I turn the doorknob five times to make that it’s locked and get in my car to zoom past Poo Hurler’s house for Whole Foods. I am not one of those people who uses anti-bacterial wipes on their shopping carts. When I see people wiping down their carts, I assume they have OCD and I pity them for being at the mercy of their mental illness. I clamp down my hands on the dirty bar and stride past them into the store thankful that the doors are automatic.
When Lady Friend is feeling bitchy, she opens non-automatic doors for Gay Panda and then runs her hand down Gay Panda’s arm.
If you saw me in the store, you’d think I was normal. Really, I’m obsessing about swine flu. A ridiculous fear, but I smile tightly to Flirty Deli Lady and order as my hands become saturated with the germs hopping about the shopping cart bar. When I can take no more, I pull down my sleeves so that I do not have to touch the bar, and then I realize I have transferred swine flu to my clothes.
By the time I get home, I am crawling with imaginary swine flu, and I hear tiny oinks. I am desperate to strip out of my clothes and get to the sink to wash off the filth, and will let groceries melt on the counter while I decontaminate. I refuse to use anti-bacterial soap, since only people neurotic about germs use those, but regular. Yes, I am aware that this is insane. Yes, I’ll be doing this again today.
So in this way, I fail at primal. If you ever see a 5’9” blue-eyed blonde in snazzy purple clogs dithering by a door at an Ancestral Health Symposium or Paleo Convention, and since you are polite you open the door, you will be bewildered to receive gratitude far out of proportion to the favor, because Gay Panda has again successfully dodged an imaginary bullet, and has you to thank.