On The Brink of the Sink

My spouse served as godfather at a baptism this morning, and afterward we were invited to the family's house for a BBQ.

I thought I'd help out with food prep, so the first thing I did on arrival was nip into the bathroom to wash my hands. This is a home with three small children, so the bathroom looks as bathrooms will under those circumstances - utilized.

Now, I'm not an entirely unfettered freak about cleanliness, but I do have this underlying urge to bleach things. Thankfully I'm far too exhausted almost all the time to disinfect doorknobs the way I might otherwise, and I'd like to think that I'm enough in possession of myself that even if I weren't too tired, I'd still be able to refrain.

However. Little kids are kind of... well, bacteria-laden. In a rather blatant way. I'm sure we're all completely loaded up with various bugs all the time, but the little people show theirs so much more visually than the taller varieties, so when I'm around them I have to work harder at not thinking about it.

But I tipped over the edge while I was washing my hands. Posted on the wall next to the sink was this little ditty, to be sung to the tune of "Put Your Fingers In The Air":

There are germs everywhere, EVERYWHERE!
There are germs everywhere, EVERYWHERE!
On your face and in your nose
On your hands and on your clothes
There are germs everywhere, EVERYWHERE!

And then... nothing. That was it. Probably this lyric offering was complements of the local preschool, but it still seemed unkindly brief, and I'd like a word with the librettist. There are germs EVERYWHERE, and - ??? What? What are we to do about it? Doesn't this seem too cheerfully fatalistic? I'm merely a perpetual perambulating host for the unseen hordes? Where's the plot, the heroic stand, the conquest and sterile denoument?

Ugh. And now here I am typing on my loathsome keyboard. Somebody pass the Lysol.