We’re Actually Quite Normal

We all have our little obsessions, our compulsions. We have certain ways of doing things, patterns we’ve established that are now habitual. These can consist of the simple order that we put our clothes on. It doesn’t really matter what goes on when, with the exception that the underwear does need to go on first, along with putting socks on prior to shoes. If you see someone walking around with jockey shorts on over their jeans and socks stretched over the outside of their shoes then you know that individual has a problem.

For example, Jan has to finish. Some refer to her a “doer”. If she can’t think of the name of an actor she’s seen in a movie she either has to jump all over the internet or start frantically knocking on doors asking quiz show questions to neighbors until she gets the name. Similarly if she’s lost something there’s no rest until it’s found. This is behavior that could be upsetting to a spouse but I use it at times to my favor. If I can’t find something I only have to mention it then she can’t sit still until she’s located it. It’s sort of fun…I’m sitting on the couch watching TV, she’s in the bedroom on the computer. I say, “Hey, honey…I’ve looked everywhere for my glasses. Have you seen them?” Then I kick back and feel the anxiousness swell like rising lava within her until a few minutes later she’s got them in her hand. The funny thing about this is she knows she does this and that I have a bit of fun with her but, she can’t help it.

Several years ago I noticed one of our visiting church leaders pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of his pocket and squirted a couple of drops on his hands prior to having lunch. I was sold. Since then I keep a small bottle of liquid germicide handy and use it particularly before I eat out. Some may think I’m going all Monk on this but I’ve been in enough public restrooms and have seen how many men don’t bother to wash their hands. The thought of touching a sink faucet, or door knob after one of these heathens gives me the shakes. Then picture picking up a sandwich with your bacteria laden fingers and you might share my nightmare.

Last week we went to the Southern Oregon Home Show at the expo. The home show is comprised of several hundred vendors who jump out at you as you walk down the aisle trying to get your attention. Some have drawings for you to sign up for, some have brochures about their business, some have candy. Some are giving away fabric bags with their logos emblazed on the sides. One plumbing booth gave away yard sticks. We couldn’t go home until Jan found the booth giving away the yard sticks.

So, as we’re wandering around Jan finally pulls a kid over carrying one of these yard sticks to ask where he got it. After getting directions we expand our search pattern until I walk by a booth with two men standing out front of the tables.

While reaching toward my face the man grabs my glasses and says, “Hey, let me clean those for you.”

Before I can respond he’s squirting something on my lenses and rubbing the liquid with his thumbs. He then takes a cloth and rubs them like he’s thinking he’s getting three wishes from a magic lamp.

“See, take a look at how clean those are," he barks as he holds them up for me to look through. He then brings them toward his mouth and to my horror he lets out a steady “hhhaawwwww” on each lens. He holds my glasses up again. “See, this stuff makes them fog resistant too.” He then sticks my glasses back on my face. I don’t remember the rest of his pitch.

I’m tensing up. I’m getting ready to flip out. I’m getting ready to call the bacterial unit of Homeland Security. I’m thinking this guy’s “hhhaawwww” breath is just micro milligrams from my eyes. I picture my eyes getting inflamed and oozing out the sockets like the Nazi’s head in the original Raider of the Lost Ark movie.

I put my glasses in my shirt pocket, take Jan by the hand and say, “Let’s get out of here!”

“But I need the yard stick!" She pleads.

“You have plenty of yard sticks!” I yell back.

Then she sternly looks into my eyes, “No, you don’t understand. I NEED to find the yard sticks!”

Luckily, we stumble upon the booth giving away the yard sticks by the exit. We speed home as I squint my eyelids together to keep my eyeballs from leaking out.

I fumble for the door key, run into the bedroom and give multiple shots of sanitizer to my glasses then rubbing them so hard I’ve probably altered the prescription.

At last relieved, I settle down on the couch next to Jan who’s fallen asleep holding her yard stick close like a teddy bear. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that one of the lenses from my glasses has now popped out. I guess it's better that than my eye ball.