On Cleanliness
I've often wondered: can soap get dirty? Silly question, I know, but sometimes I idle on trivial matters. And on a number of occasions in my life, women I've known have complained about dirty soap. My response has been something along the lines of, "What does that mean? 'Dirty soap?' How can soap get dirty? It's soap!"
"Well," the reply went. "It's got hair all over it." And sometimes even: "And it's not my hair."
Okay, it's understandable. And I suppose the surface of wet soap will absorb whatever dries against it. So if it sits on top of a dirty tub--even if it doesn't quite get dirty--it certainly isn't clean.
Then I met some people who swore by liquid soap. It solves the problem of worrying whether someone used it directly on his balls, but it presents the issue of not knowing what else could have been put inside the container. (Memories of sleep-away camp come back to me, and--while I'd love to say the people I know now are more grown up than the people I knew when I was eleven--I can't honestly make such a claim. I will spare you the details of what went inside the bottles and just say that whatever you're thinking it might have been, the answer is: "Yes, but not mine.")
In my life, I've only been close to one germaphobe. She fell in love with me after reading something I wrote, but didn't want to kiss me after I told her I had a mild case of Gingivitis. I pleaded for a kiss, and somehow managed to get closed-mouth pecks back into the realm of acceptability as long as I shared my penis. Intimacy felt forced though, and it fell apart quickly. I kept trying to really kiss her, and she kept moving her head away. She was far more interested in my southern region. I realize that this might have been some guys' fantasy; I could barely keep it up. The space between us felt filled with discomfort, even mild disgust. There was desire, but there was also a chasm where there should have been emotional intimacy. We liked each other, but there was no disguising it: our bond was primarily intellectual.
Article after article comes out suggesting that germaphobia is incredibly silly. They say that antibacterial soap is actually no better than the plain stuff, that good bacteria is the best defense against bad bacteria, that it might be best for some people not to shower every day, and that obsessing over germs isn't going to make you healthier or happier.
You can argue the point all you want. Once someone gets it in his head that most of the world is dirty, it's tough to get that out. But I am reminded of what George Carlin said:
...What d'ya think you have an immune system for? It's for killing germs! But it needs practice, it needs germs to practice on. So if you kill all the germs around you, and live a completely sterile life, then when germs do come along, you're not gonna be prepared. And never mind ordinary germs, what are you gonna do when some super virus comes along that turns your vital organs into liquid shit?! I'll tell you what your gonna do ... you're gonna get sick. You're gonna die and your gonna deserve it because you're fucking weak and you got a fuckin' weak immune system!
It seems to me that overprotecting yourself is suicide, committed slowly and without any fun.
I've always felt quite a few things we call clean aren't clean, anyway. You couldn't tell me that the school lunchroom was cleaner just after it was wiped down and mopped. The place always reeked of bleach, and caused my stomach to turn if I had to eat. Or breathe. Calling that clean seemed wrong to me then, and it still does.
And then there's air "freshener." There's an ineffective, waste-of-money product, and a misnomer if there ever was one. It doesn't neutralize the smell of anything. It just adds another unpleasant odor to the mix. If you embrace one smell, you immediately discover the other lurking for you underneath. You can't freshen the smell of fresh vomit with the smell of fresh chemical-lemon. You can only combine them to form a hybrid--invariably new--but not fresh in any sense that would mean better.
One thing I've always felt the opposite way about is sponges. If it's fair to ask whether soap can get dirty, I think it's fair to ask whether sponges--after a few uses--ever really get to be clean? They soak up so much filth, how long can they last? Most not-new sponges smell a little funky. I find myself wanting to toss sponges after about two or three weeks of use. Rinsing helps, but it only delays the inevitable. Maybe you think it's because my roommates have mostly been male, but most sponges in well-kept houses I visit impart me with unpleasant smells. They touch so much filth, but we keep wiping them around.
Why? Sponges are as dirty as music industry executives, as pervasive as corrupt cops in Mexico, as unnecessary as child-molesting priests. I want to believe that they'll all be obsolete soon. And I can't wait until they are.
It's often said that "cleanliness is next to godliness." But, just like godliness, we call things clean but it's not exactly clear what we mean by it. If soap can get dirty, then just what is clean? Truth? Beauty? Good intentions? Love? Sacrifice? Maybe, but is there any concrete, physical substance?
No. At least, not that I can think of. Some things are safe to touch. Others are safe to eat. Others are safe to breathe. Others are safe to have sex with. There's no index for the cleanliness of substances other than the way they make you feel and the effects they have on your health and on the environment around you. That's it.
So rinse the top layer off the soap the way grandma used to cut the mold off of cheese. It isn't going to kill you.*
*Unless...of course...it's something spiritually unclean, such as goths,
swedes, americans,
shellfish, figs,
fags, homophobes,
or Fred Phelps. God hates those
according to the infallible
Google.
({}) <=======
And...wait...perhaps there is one substance which is clean?
© 2007 FussyPucker.