In addition to the Lynch chin, I inherited a mild case of germophobia from my father. When we’re out to dinner, my family can always rely on him for a tiny bottle of Purell (not to mention a packet of Splenda). When traveling, he dutifully sanitizes everything from the airplane armrest to the remote control in the hotel, and now, so do I.So when I moved from the squeaky-clean suburbs to grimy New York City, it was an adjustment, to say the least. I had to stop myself from having panic attacks as my fellow subway riders clipped their toenails, ate sloppy corn beef sandwiches, and just plain stank, squished up against me. Five years on, these behaviors hardly alarm me, but nonetheless, I de-stankify immediately with hand sanitizer when I get into the office. My current favorite, from Jurlique, is pleasantly scented with lavender and uses Australian bush mint to fend off bacteria, so it doesn’t reek and sting of alcohol (and thus, dry out my hands) like most others.
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