The sense of touch is a wonderful thing.
Aside from all the sexual stuff, (I know you are expecting me to go into great detail here, but I'll change it up a bit and try and keep it clean.) there are many amazing things about it. The whisper of the wind on your face, being able to feel the sun warm you on an otherwise chilly day, and even the shock of cold water when you plunge into the pool.
I'm not going to talk about any of that.
You see, just a couple of minutes ago I had to open a bottle of pills. Now that in itself is not too challenging, as I mastered the child-proof cap at the age of 26.
What gets me is that piece of nastiness which resides inside.
Yes, I'm talking about cotton balls.
Now for some reason, the sensation of reaching in and pulling out a piece of cotton fluff (or the Devil's Belly Lint, as I call it,) just makes the hair on my arms stand up. It makes my teeth itch. I would rather chew aluminium foil than have to do that again.
I, who have conquered the Huggies diaper (Fully Loaded), faced down week-old Cottage Cheese, and even hand cleaned the grease trap at The Arches, felt like throwing up as I grasped the frizzy ball of evil.
Now does that make any sense?
I know I can't be the only one. There have to be more like me. Everyone hates to touch something, be it the floor of a movie theatre, the receiver on a pay phone, a Celine Dion album, or having to shake a fat man's hand.
What makes you cringe? What are you loathe to touch?
Later.
What do I loathe to touch? The door handles on public washrooms. They're nasty. I've been called irrational for this...but do you have any idea how many people don't wash their hands after using the bathroom? It's startling. I can't get over it...as a result I don't touch these doors unless my clean hand is protected by several pieces of paper towel or, in desperate situations, my sleeve...
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ReplyDeleteI hate to touch almost anything.
ReplyDeleteThere. I said it. I'm a freak. no, actually; I'm a nail-biter, and until I kick the habit, I can be a real weirdo. I also despise leaving (messy) fingerprints on door handles, glass, anything, really.
I also type a lot. Surprised? Yeah, that's a stunner. Being a typer guy, I despise having anything sticky on my fingers, so no fried chicken, ribs or halal.
Mom says that, when I was a kid, she was continually wiping my fingers. My sister does that with The Boy, and he's a bit pansy about his fingers too. Maybe that's it.
No, you may not stare at my fingers when we're at Timmy's; I'll make pains to touch the sticky gooey food-like objects there.
Um, I had you at "I'm a freak," didn't I?