I’m not normally a huge germaphobe.  Sure, I’m a salmonella-phobe.  A winter weather-phobe.  Heck, I could even be accused of being an afraid-of-my-own-shadow-phobe.  But not as much a germaphobe.  I don’t like getting sick.  I wash my hands when I get home from being out.  But I don’t sit and worry constantly about getting sick.  Except until now.  2 weeks before the wedding.  Right at the triumphant beginning of flu season.  Flu season says “Taa Daaa! I’m here, bitches!”

I have now turned into that psycho woman who will look at you with disgust when you sneeze into your hand and not your elbow.  If you sniffle, I will step 5 feet back.  God forbid you might look a little pasty, because then I will actually try to conceive a plan to take your temperature without you knowing.  Under your tongue though.  I think you might very well know if I took it someplace else.  Ew.

Not only have I turned into a huge ‘fraidy cat about anything microscopic, but Tony has also become a diva about venturing into the land of sick.  Or the land of potential sick.  Basically, if he thinks you may have a cold, you will not be invited over for video games.

You know the irony in this, right?  You know that, because I talk a lot about these karma gods looking over me, and I tend to piss them off quite a bit, I will come down with something on my wedding day.  I’m looking around for wood to knock on right now.  Even just committing that to writing has me worried I jinxed myself.  Add that to the list.  A jinx-a-phobe.