Dirt wuss

Yesterday I had grand visions of cleaning our patio, the railing, the fence, and the patio furniture. All looked like they have been neglected since the Kennedy administration. But by the time I scrubbed the fence,the chairs, and the table, I was so sick of dirt and muck and cobwebs and spider eggs and bird poop that I had to put the rest off for another day.

Of course, we had a big storm last night and the bottom of the fence and the table have reverted to their 1960s appearance.

I am a dirt wuss. I hate dirt and getting dirty. No doubt I was one of those prissy little girls who cried if a speck of dirt got on me at recess. I probably never played with playdough (did they have it back then?). It probably also explains my lack of artistic ability -- maybe it's not that I don't have some, but that the thought of paint adhering to my arm hairs just scares the creativity right out of me.

This is also why I do not like to clean. You'd think I'd relish getting rid of all that dirt and grime around me, but I cannot stand being in the middle of it, or touching it. I do not like mops, dusting cloths, or anything else that is reusable. Looking at all the dirt they've picked up makes me want to throw up. Cleaning apparatuses that can be thrown away are the only ones I can stomach. I want the yucky stuff out-out-OUT of my sight. This is why, despite our having almost no carpeting in the house, I still vacuum everything. You gotta love those disposable vacuum bags. You never have to see what's been on your floors.

The vacuum offers the additional advantage of allowing you to remain as far as possible from the source of the dirt. If the dirt is on the other end of a long hose, you don't have to actually come in contact with it. This doesn't seem to be an important factor to Joe, who is in charge of cleaning our two stairways. He wasn't satisfied with any of the ways I suggested he clean the steps and was happy to use just a damp paper towel. Hey, if he wants to have only a micro-thin piece of recycled paper between him and stairs that are only slightly cleaner than the sidewalk, more power to him.

My mom, similarly, is not easily disgusted by the dirt she finds lurking in her house. She would always show me the bottom of the mop or towel she had cleaned her kitchen floor with. "Look how filthy this floor was," she would tsk-tsk.

Why would I want to see what I've been walking on? I suppose she hoped it would inspire me to greater heights of cleanliness. It only made me want to run, screaming, and donate my life's savings to science in the hopes that someone would invent some sort of sterile environment that would automatically remove all dirt and pathogens from the air and solid surfaces, while you sleep.

My aversion to dirt is also one of the main reasons I don't like to garden (that, and everything dies on me). It's why I don't like to camp, paint a room, or make meatloaf. Think about it. Doesn't that gross you out to put your hands up to your elbows in raw meat, eggs, and who knows what else? If I ever made meatloaf I would SO wear rubber gloves to mix it.

Some people love that primal feeling of being one with the earth and all that. I really wish I were more fond of getting dirty; I could enjoy the great outdoors, dig for worms, clean my own chickens and fish...on second thought, maybe I'm not really missing out on anything.