Germ-o-phobe

I've been spending my time in this little "resort" getting caught up on my older kids latest television show craze--Glee. I find it wonderful in a disturbing kind of way, and could do all kinds of commentary on many different levels. But I'll just share that part that reminds me of my situation.

There's a scene where the character Emma walks stiff-legged into the boy's locker room, her arms held awkwardly at her sides. Her approximate words are: "I can't stay in here of course. The germs. And the smell."

The coach she's addressing nods his understanding. The woman is a serious germ phobe. She eats with plastic gloves on, just for starters.

And I'm feeling increasingly like her. Since I apparently have NO immune system for the time being, there's a sign on my door that prohibits live flowers or plants. Because of the spores. And fresh fruits and vegetables. Fortunately they haven't prohibited those giant germ caravans known as humans, but it's only a matter of time. Which is why I feel a little like Emma, standing uncomfortably in the locker room. "I can't stay here." I mean, this is a great facility, but it's packed wall-to-wall with sick people and germs. I should be anywhere but here.

I touched my NOSTRIL last night with my STERILE finger while preparing for bed. Gasped. And frantically began flushing the nose, willing back any germs that might have considered that an invitation to take a stroll. Seriously. I'm that bad.

That's when I knew the biggest difference between me and Emma is her big doe eyes. And that I know exactly how she felt when she walked into that locker room. I can't stay here either honey.