I'm not an anti-bacterial kind of girl. My mother always said, "You've got to eat a peck of dirt before you die." No, seriously, my mother said that. Out loud. In front of me. (She got it from her mother, who, in her defense, did grow up on a farm in Ohio.) It freaks my roommate out, but I tend to do things she disapproves of -- like not washing my vegetables before I eat them, applying the 15-second rule liberally, and calling Evan Farmer my boyfriend. (Though that last one has little to do with my point.)
Even though I firmly believe that all this anti-bacterial nonsense will lead to breeds of super-germs, I still have some of that scary hand gel that cleans your hands without washing them. And after petting a co-worker's puppy this morning, I went for it. Except I was reading my daily dose of blogs at the same time, so I didn't notice it was oozing all over the place. I ended up with far too much goo on my hands and had to anti-bacterialize my arms as well. So all my dirt-eating has been for naught. If the super-germs get me, now you know why.
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