Question of the day: Green or clean?

Although I'm no microbiologist, I do know something about germs. I know that there are muddy germs, flu germs, bacterial germs and the germs that transport themselves to your sofa via a child who plants his grubbies on the couch after a day of fun in the sun.

Need we mention the bugs, the cooties, the fungi and just plain old protozoa?

Then there are the germs that catch a free ride on your shoes, hang out near your toothbrush, and plan an outdoor barbecue complete with their shady neighbors on the bottom of your purse.

It's more than a germ-conscious woman can take.

Despite desperate attempts to make it otherwise, our car is a disease laden den of filth. The phone is nothing more than a lair to viruses, and my kitchen floor houses no less than a bajillion germs at this very moment who are rumored to be planning a Protozoan family reunion in a crevice under a bar stool.

And to think the children apply the fivesecond rule to a situation such as that.

The more I heard about germs, the more I decided to go on the defense. Wash your hands, wipe your feet, douse your seat and for the love of Pete, use an antibacterial wipe on your face.

Not to mention the introduction of germkilling protocol to the family via a pulldown screen and a repeat demonstration.

I was really getting a handle on things just last week and was well on my way to becoming a germ-o-phobe. I was deep in the throes of germ-conscious procedures by wiping down my cart at Wal-Mart and passing out dollops of Germ-X to the fam like it was my job.

I had my Pine-Sol in one hand and an antibacterial chamois in the other when they came across the news with, "Are we too germ conscious?"

"Are we ridding the world of good germs with our antibacterial soaps and constant hand washing when we should be embracing nature and building up our immune systems?"

"Are we being green?"

Well, I asked myself as I pulled my face mask down and pushed my goggles up onto my forehead, I don't know, am I? I mean, I used to be greener before I cleaned the stuff out of the fridge. Had I gone too far?

Although I wondered if I needed to back off my germ-o-cidal ways just a smidgen, the one place I couldn't let down my guard was the public restroom. Take the other day, for instance, when I walked into the women's room and sent little Charlie off to the men's.

I, for one, prefer to use the public restroom with vigilance and make it my goal to go in and out without touching anything. I flush with my foot, open the latch with my elbow and am able to gracefully exit the stall while smiling at fellow public restroom users as if I were running for Congress.

I prefer a sink that automatically turns on with a simple wave of the hand and a soap dispenser that recognizes my need for sanitation by responding to my presence with a proper indulgence. But this day, I was faced with the old crank-style appliances.

I turned the water on with a paper towel, washed my hands while singing "Happy birthday to me," and then looked at the fine folks behind me with a wink and a nod and said, "I left the water running for you."

It may be enough to make the green people cough and choke, but the CDC would certainly have given me a proud nod.

With my elbows planted firmly into my ribs and my hands held up as if I'd just completed a surgical scrub and was about to be donned with sterile gloves, I exited the women's room feeling proud for having avoided contamination and was just in time to meet up with little Charlie.

As he exited the bathroom, he was busily wiping his hands on his britches and looking as content as a protozoa in a warm, fuzzy climate.

"Did you use soap?"

He gave me a look of bewilderment as if it were the first time he'd ever heard the suggestion and said, "No, why?"

Let's just pray that he didn't touch anything for more than five seconds.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.