Poopy Paws

Dear Diary,

It's a slippery slope, germophobia. One day I'm a little leery of the communal sponge in the office kitchen. Perfectly reasonable; it's gross.

But the next thing I know I'm refusing to touch any surfaces at all, anywhere. I'm using a paper towel to push the buttons on the coffee machine. I'm using my elbow to push buttons on the elevator. Then I'm freaking out about my elbow. I'm refusing to order a salad at a restaurant because it could have been prepared with poopy hands. You can't trust anyone. Does my boss really wash her hands for 20 seconds after she goes to the bathroom? Of course not. She might as well have just shit all over her hands and then handed me a fax.

Telecommuting is looking better and better.

Love, Fluffy