Washing My Hands

I'm taking these virus protection precautions seriously.  I travel with sanitizing wipes when I have to interact with the outside world (my Ativan prescription was not something I wanted to be without) and I'm wiping down pens and credit cards and door handles and garage door remote control devices.  

Some of the wipes are lemon scented, some are lavender (these have creepy purple blotches), all of them leave a lingering, antiseptic odor.  I tell myself the smell is strong because the wipes are powerful. It had better be true.

At home, we are washing our hands as frequently as we pass a sink, or pick up a book, or open a newspaper (the procedure for reading the daily paper - the physical, hard copy, Arizona Daily Star - is worthy of its own post)

It's a good thing that I've always liked pretty soaps, like this box of 4.

The sushi plate Little Cuter made serves as the soap dish at my vanity sink.  The two rocks are treasures from hikes, the soap is supposed to make my skin cleaner than clean.  I bought it because I liked the color. 

 A guest brought these which sit happily in our powder room.  The soap was being used more rapidly until my cuticles began to protest the constant onslaught of water.  The white lotion smells great, and my cuticles have stopped complaining.

 And then there are the soaps I put in their bathrooms when the kids were visiting in December.

This one is in the kitchen, slowly and blissfully bubbly in my hands.

If I have to wash my hands all the time, I'm going to enjoy every part of it.