I used to tell Hubby off for buying that antibacterial soap for the dishes.
"We're sterilizing ourselves to death!" I'd exclaim, regurgitating the latest fad to hit the airwaves.
"We use too many antibiotics - we ARE biotics!" I'd rant, well-versed in the lingo. "Use too much of this stuff and eventually we'll get mutated superbugs, and penicillin will no longer work, and we'll have people dying in the streets! Our super-clean fetish will kill us! Just use soap! Plain old soap!"
Hubby would ignore me and buy all the antibacterial stuff he could carry.
Antibacterial hand wash (alcohol, and if you're lucky, a bit of glycerin so your skin doesn't fall off in a week). Antibacterial soak for your clothing. (Just wash the shit!) Antibacterial tile spray (chlorine bleach). Antibacterial countertop wipes. (Moist towelettes with alcohol).
Lemon juice and baking soda and vinegar could do all this stuff for us, but we'd have to rinse out the cloth, rather than throw it away so we can worry about our garbage/landfull crisis.... but I digress.
I was up on the ladder today, washing the ceiling fan. I'd just rinsed the cloth and put a drop of Hubby's antibacterial soap and some lemon juice on it, and, back atop the ladder I was rubbing away, when it hit me....
All those people with these super-clean environments, all those scientists who are worried about us growing a new generation of superbugs...
None of these people have ever seen MY HOUSE.
Hubby now has permission to buy as much antibacterial crap as he wishes.
What was I thinking?!
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