Yesterday, I went to the Big City where millions upon millions of people all live stacked together in tall buildings, their effluvia pouring down, or out, or through the very air, and I realized: I've become a germophobe. I know I'm probably making up the very word, since my spell check told me so, but that's what it feels like Germ Oh! Phobe.
Squashed rat in street
This has been a long time coming.
I left NYC in 1996 to go live in the most beautiful city on earth, Prague (not the cleanest, but you just had to look up at the architecture to ignore that). In 2000, we moved to Montreal, not such a big city, and not too dirty (couldn't see much dirt under all the snow). I tried to move back to NY in 2003, and again in 2007, but couldn't take the rats in the subway, the spit on the sidewalk, the poop in the street (the worst poop I have living upstate is goose poop, long and green, but mostly just half-digested grass).
Where's my sense of cool? Have I become a fuddy duddy, not wanting to touch the yuckys?
The point has become especially clear since I had my little one, who, when we come to the city, is often face-to-face with the sleeping drug addicts who release long strings of drool at her feet.
Have I always been this bad? I grew up in the city, and don't remember being so very aware of every single roach that resides there, though I do remember being quite scared of them. Maybe I've always been a secret germophobe. Am I the only one? Does it bother no one else?
No wonder I wrote a book about Typhoid Mary.
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