Dirty girl

I’ve been ripping pretty hard on the single men of the internet recently, so maybe it’s time to turn the guns around and make fun of myself for a minute. When I’m checking out a new guy online, there’s an option to see the questions that we’ve answered incompatibly. In addition to discovering a depressing quantity of guys who prefer burning books to flags and are more OK with lesbians than gays,  I’ve uncovered one other difference between me and the men of Philly– hygiene.

Having come to adulthood in a town where it was perfectly acceptable to hit the slopes, work, the bar, bed and work again without changing clothes, let alone bathing, seems to have left me with some permanently low cleanliness standards. Because when I answered the question about how often I shower with the “Usually daily. I skip some.” choice, I thought I was leaning in the direction of clean-freakiness. Yet, time after time, that answer is popping up as unacceptable to my potential dates.

So I was already aware of my abnormal acceptance of dirt when I went to a wedding recently (yes, I did shower before the wedding. it was a special occasion. duh.) and was seated next to a cute guy. We had been chit-chatting successfully when the food arrived, and I, with my usual seductive grace, knocked a serving spoon onto the floor. I hustled to grab the spoon within the official five-second limit, and then wiped it off. I looked up to replace the spoon on the tray and saw my neighbor staring in horror as he whisked the food out of my reach. I was mystified. Not only had I made the five seconds, but it was definitely the kind of situation where you could reasonably extend it to 10– tile floor, recently cleaned for the wedding, no furry animals in residence. And it was only a serving utensil!

I quietly placed it back on the table, resigning myself to the fact that the two of us would definitely not be spooning later.


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