Warning: If you have problems with what my father calls “water closet talk,” please skip this post.
My OCD trouble began when I was traumatized at my first post-high school job. I worked in a small office (just two of us). My male boss and I shared a bathroom. Can you tell where this is going?
I didn’t have trouble with fecal related issues before discovering a very large, very hairy turd that my boss left in the toilet. The most horrific part; there was no toilet paper. NO TOILET PAPER! Who does that?! I mean, leaving a gigantic piece of shit in a toilet is hands-down disgusting, but not even taking the time to wipe your own ass? WHO DOES THAT?! That is some serious filthiness to not bother wiping your own butthole.
From there my mental state deteriorated when I realized that someone who couldn’t be bothered to wipe their own butthole would surely not be caught up with pesky habits like hand washing. I fell apart when I looked around the cramped, overstuffed office and realized that everything around me was surely contaminated with filthy no-butthole-wiping-no-hand-washing fecal matter.
