It’s Sunday morning round brunch time, and I am imagining a couple of soft gooey eggs on toast…

“I feel like some eggs…”

“I’ll make you some eggs darlin” Fitty picks up a shrunken, manky half-tomato he has left on the kitchen bench overnight. “We need to use this up, so I’ll make you eggs with garlic, chili, onions and tomato with cheese melted all over it!”

“But I just want eggs, I never asked you for garlic breath and manky tomato!” I moan, trying to look past him to the fry pan to see if it has a greasy coating and footprints.

Fitty and I are at constant logger-heads about food storage, preparation and cleanliness. I’m a total fuss pot, I’ll admit it. I  like to have to know that my food is clean, stored properly, and hygienically prepared . Living with people who think it’s stupid to wash their hands is enough to make one paranoid.

“Washing your hands is stupid. Germs will save you from other germs!”

So in effect – don’t bother with hand washing – even after the toilet!! I think somewhere, one of the parents read an article where it was suggested it might be a good idea to let your babies eat a little dirt now and then – and ran with it..

Fitty is a man, so he ignores anything that requires effort, plus – he must always be the most popular parent – ergo he usually backs the kids. So although he agrees with me about the washing of hands after using the toilet – I’m on my own here when I shriek and rant and rave about germs and bacteria on the food!!

I would elaborate – but I can’t even imagine words to explain the above, or how I live with it. Highlighting the difficulties of shared parenting is exactly the point  of this post because  PENIS BREAD…

Penis Bread – is bread that has been touched by unwashed toilet hands.

I live in constant fear of eating penis bread or it’s crusty cousin – booger chips, (and don’t even ask me to share your ass biscuits!)


I know, it’s inconceivable for most of us to imagine a world where Mothers don’t teach children the basics, such as the washing of hands and bathroom etiquette. But trust me, it happens. I didn’t even know it had happened until a couple of years back when the subject sorta came up. My explosive yet disbelieving response was to interrogate the children HARD.

Turns out that some mothers don’t believe in hand washing at all! All the germs are GOOD FOR YOU.

Which is fine for those mothers I guess, but when another mother has to live with the product of your beliefs, it creates a lotta extra work and anxiety.


photo credit: The Mascara Diaries


Growing up, I was surrounded by a nagging Magoo who worked in the home. You could white-glove my mother’s house any day of the year and you wouldn’t find a spec of dust. She’s very clean. We had to wash our hands after washing our hands, you know – just in case. Before we went out anywhere, she would wash all the floors so she could come back to a spotless home.

When I ask Fitty about his childhood, he tells me that his mum never naggedshe just did it all. I believe him, cause MIL seems like the kind of lady who just does. MIL worked all of Fitty’s childhood, and she probably never had the energy to nag.

Is it my fault  Magoo created a heavily anxious, germaphobe?

It does make it hard to live together tho, and when it comes to the hand washing thing, I kinda want to move to Mars…

So, in my head, when Fitty offers to make me eggs, I go through a mental process that goes like this:

  1. Is the pan clean? Coz you know he just wipes the grease off and leaves it sitting on the stove face up so the flies can fuck in it?
  2. Are the eggs fresh?  Coz even if things are less than fresh, he’s gonna give them the benefit of the doubt and serve them to me anyway.
  3. Has the bread got penis?  Coz you know maybe that bread got mauled by unwashed kids?
  4. Did Fitty wash his hands??
  5. Are the fruits/vegetables fresh? Did he wash them? Coz you will never get the image of the lady sneezing on the strawberries out of your mind, (and you don’t want to eat supermarket snot-berries.)

Then – there’s this:

  • The dirtiest member of this household, the one with perpetually sticky hands – is constantly sick.
  • The one’s with the dirtiest rooms are the ones that are always misplacing and breaking their stuff.
  • I’m probably gonna die first – because that one time I don’t wash my hands, I’ll contract Emu-Flu and die.

I definitely over-do it, but Fitty definitely under-does it. Maybe somewhere in there is a balance of just the right amount of bacteria in our systems to avoid pandemic episodes and mouth aids?

Sure hope so?  If not, just remember – if anything happens to me and you never see another post?

It was probably the Penis Bread….