Talk Dirty

As I get older, I’ve come to realise that the world is divided into two groups: those who are clean, and those who think they’re clean. The second group isn’t really clean and I’m willing to bet that if you were to apply some pressure – say, a day in the dentist’s chair getting a root canal – they’d be the first to confess they don’t care if there’s a bit of dust in the corner of the room, or mould is growing in the bathroom grouting.

            Just the other night, at dinner with my old friend Darryl, his six-year-old son Sam announced he needed to do a number two. Saffy immediately put down her chopsticks and closed her eyes, her legendary bosom visible trembling at the untimely interruption, seeing as she was just about to bite into a deboned har-zheong gai.

            Darryl looked at his wife, Simone. “I’m eating,” she said in a tone that suggested that perhaps Sam was not really her son.

            Darryl sighed, got up and hustled a squirming Sam towards the restaurant’s toilet.

            We went back to our meal, conversation resuming slowly as Simone brought everyone up to date on her new job. It wasn’t until the salted egg prawns arrived at the table that we realized Darryl and Sam still hadn’t returned. “Don’t wait for them. Just keep eating,” Simone said. “That kid has lazy bowels.”

            “I knew there was a reason why I adore him,” mumbled Saffy through a mouthful of rice.

            Eventually, father and son returned, Sam happily adjusting the drawstrings on his shorts. “He sat there for the longest time and said he wasn’t quite done yet,” Darryl reported.

This time, it was Amanda who put down her chopsticks to close her eyes. “Really?” she murmured.

Simone lifted a finger. “Wait. He sat down? Did you line the seat?”

“No.” He paused. The look on Simone’s face spoke volumes. “But I wiped it,” he added helpfully.

Saffy shut her eyes and moaned.

Darryl hesitated. “What?”

“You let our son sit down on the seat of a public toilet?” Simone said slowly.

“He’s going to have a bath after dinner!”

“Did you at least wipe the seat with anti-bacterial wipes?” Simone asked.

“Do I look like I’m Watsons? Anyway, a little bit of germs never hurt anyone!”

A few days later, Simone had coffee with Saffy and Amanda and it was all she could talk about. “Oh my God! How did I ever end up with someone with that kind of personal hygiene?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but we always did wonder about that,” Amanda told her.

“Do you know he used to think it was OK to wash the toilet brush in the dishwasher?” Simone sighed. “Of course, this was back in the day when we’d just met and he had toilet brushes.”

“Shut up!” Saffy said. “He did not!”

“Oh, yes he did. And when I freaked out, he thought I was crazy!”

“You just can’t tell with some people, can you?” Saffy marveled.

“Wait,” Amanda said. “You don’t have toilet brushes?”

“Of course not! They just sit in the bathroom with germs festering in them!”

Amanda was astonished. “So, how do you clean?”

“I use a disposable scrubber! Which Darryl hates because they’re so expensive!”

“I once dated a guy who washed his smelly jogging shoes in the washing machine with all his other clothes and bath towels,” Saffy said. “He was amazing in bed, but the severe low standard of his cleanliness was a deal breaker for me.”

“Well, when I first met Darryl, his idea of washing hands was to barely rinse the soap off his hands! His sister is worse! She doesn’t even wash the soap off her dishes! Just puts them like that all soapy on the drying rack!”

“Huh!” Saffy said. “Where do these people come from?”

“And I’ve only just stopped his habit of using my kitchen gloves to clean the toilet! He thinks I’m being completely ridiculous!”

“How is he even alive?” Amanda wanted to know. “He should be dead of at least half a dozen viruses by now!”

Simone sniffed. “Which he says proves his point that I’m being completely neurotic about germs and stuff, since nobody has died so far. Which is completely annoying because I sometimes wish he would contract some hideous skin disease, but then I feel really bad about it. The whole thing just drives me up the wall!”

When I told my mother all this, she said I need to make new friends.