The Germ Test

Dear reader, I need your advice. Rightly or wrongly, there are always a series of tests to which I subject the men in my life. These tests are not premeditated or even always consciously adminstered; at some point something happens and my reaction to it is to create an “information gathering” opportunity which has a right course of action and a wrong one.  Recently there was an incident that caused me to wonder if I had gone too far. Am I the one who's failing?

I should preface this story by telling you that I am slightly germphobic. I generally make a concerted effort to appear like a normal person who isn’t overly fazed by germs, but sometimes and on certain issues I fail. For instance, I will not under any circumstances touch the door handle in a public restroom with my bare hands after I’ve washed them. I love a bathroom with a swinging door! If there are no paper towels, I will use toilet paper, or I will wait until someone else opens the door. Yes, I’ve stood there and waited.

So, Ricky knows this about me. My phobia has been well-documented throughout our relationship. The other night, I had showered and gotten in bed (I also have this thing about my bed being a clean place, but I think you’ve gotten the idea) and Ricky had washed his face and brushed his teeth and was about to get in bed (no shower, but I’ve come to accept this) but first he picks up his laptop, sees that the cord is tangled, and proceeds to use both hands to smooth out the entire length of the cord. The cord that rests on the floor, not only at home but in Starbucks and lord knows where else on a regular basis. After doing this, his hands might as well have been painted red in my germphobic mind. So I tell him (well, whine at him might be a more accurate description): “You’ve contaminated your hands with that cord. Now they’re all germy.” And he gives me one of his exasperated looks and tells me that there are germs everywhere. I ask him to wash his hands and he refuses. “OK, suit yourself. But do not touch me. I mean it.” And I did mean it. He rolls his eyes, gets in bed, sets his alarm and then reaches over to put his arm around me. I swat his arm away. He says “I thought you’d have forgotten.” “No.” I tell him. “I will never forget. Keep your germy hands on your side of the bed.”

Ricky sighs and turns out the light and tells me he’s not going to indulge my craziness. I respond: “Fine. You win. And by win, I mean you don't get to touch me.” I then scoot farther over to my side of the bed and turn my back to him. At this point, I realize that maybe I’ve gone too far. But I really, really, really don’t want his germy hands to touch me! I try telling myself that if I had been in the bathroom while he touched the cord I never would have known. I try to remind myself of all of the millions of germy things he’d touched before touching me that I will never ever know about. I will survive if he touches me, I will probably even enjoy it. Of course I know this. But it is all to no avail. I'm not trying to "win", but I am powerless to surrender. I decide to go to sleep without so much as a cuddle.

After a few minutes, I hear him get up and go into the bathroom. Sure enough, I hear the water running and a minute later he’s back in bed. I face him and ask if he washed his hands. “Maybe” he replies. I take one of his hands and sniff. It smells like soap, it’s still slightly damp, it’s glorious. “Thank you! Now you can touch me all you want.” I tell him and wrap my arms around him.

I know I should be happy, since he passed the test and I “won.” But the thought lingers… should I have just let it go? Did I go too far? What do you think?