Sunday, February 15, 2009


I earlier confessed to being George from Seinfeld. Another confession of a similar nature is in order. I'm also a combination of Putty and Jerry in that I have an overactive fear of germs. It's not to the level of full-on germophobia (unlike Putty, I have not felt the need to go through a 12-step program for the problem), but it is significant enough that I sometimes have chapped hands from overwashing.

So, that's another of my many charms. Why am I still single??????? Ahem.

Anyway. So my primary issue with food is in the sharing with other people. Knowing that their utensil touched my food, or their fingers, gives me the willies. In the interest of being a member of society and a number of friendly social networks, however, I generally keep my angst to the inside and force myself to continue eating after the dreaded double dip. Because if people knew the full extent of my neurotica (awesome--a word I made up that sounds dirty but isn't), I would spend even more time holed up in my house.

If I may be indulged in yet another sidetrack (and it's my blog so sod off if you don't like it), my family has a current running joke (or a hypertext story, to use a term by my proffie Steve D.) about me in this category. The three of them wanted to go to Bonanza for dinner one night. Bonanza is a buffet-style restaurant, like Old Country Buffet or Golden Corral. I, in keeping with the full honesty that comes with family relationships, expressed a less than enthusiastic response. I wasn't excited about eating food touched by people whose cleanliness standards were highly suspect. My exact words were that I didn't want to eat with all the people "chawing." I don't know where that word came from, but the point is my family thought it was funny and now every time eating out is mentioned, the word "chaw" appears at least once.

Yes. So. End of sidetrack.

The point is (I think) that I am freaked out by germs, and most particularly the eating of it in social settings where I can't control the entire thing. Again, why am I still single?? I am usually able to overlook the fact that the kitchens at the restaurants I frequent are probably not as clean as I want because I can't see it back there. Ignorance is bliss. I eat out, I take that risk. Period.

Imagine my dismay, then, to read an article in the NY Times this week that discusses all the various disgusting things that can legally find its way into the food I buy. For consumption in my own home. Which I always thought I had some control over. Turns out I have no control over eating germs even with my OWN FOOD IN MY OWN HOME. Crap!

Apparently I eat rodent hairs, rodent poo, maggots, mold, and various other delights every time I open a jar or wrapper. That's just fantastic. Now I have to swear off eating even at home?? Madness.

Read it. If. You. Dare.....


netekay said...

Oh. My. G*D!!! Ok, I'm never eating again. I warned me!

And, you hide your neuroses very well! :D

Anonymous said...

This just made me laugh out loud. You are hilarious. Not to make light of your ... uh ... "neurotica."