I’m traveling right now with my dad. We’re great travel partners and enjoy each other’s company as most of the time we prefer reading our books to talking. It’s great.

While waiting for our flight to take off, we discovered something new about each other—Germaphobia. Yes, we discussed the particular challenge germaphobes face when traveling, such as how airplane bathrooms require some pretty good technique.

I’m a closet Germaphobe. I try to avoid announcing it to the world, but I fight a secret battle against the world everyday—the world of germs. My mind is constantly plagued about what I’m touching or who has touched that.

Below are some symptoms of my case of Germaphobia.

I use my knuckle to push elevator buttons.

I’ll wait by a door for someone else to open it so I don’t have to touch the handle.And if I have to touch the door, I deftly try to touch the part of the handle that is the least likely touched.

I ride subways and trains like I’m surfing a wave. (I’ve gotten pretty good at this, btw.)

When there’s a bowl of lemons next to the drink station, I look over my shoulder so nobody sees me pick up a lemon with my hand to avoid touching the tongs. Why would I touch a piece of metal every other dirty hand has touched and then use my hand to squeeze the lemon into my drink. But don’t worry. I always make sure I touch only MY lemon.

Now I recognize that germ awareness is a slippery slope. I’m not bad. I don’t have OCD. I don’t use Purell as often as you think.

But as a doctor’s daughter, I’m inherently aware of the disease all around us. After our conversation about Germaphobia, I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s genetic.

For example, after I told my dad about how I handle lemon tongs, he told me the story about how he tried to politely explain to the Spanish-speaking lunch lady in the hospital cafeteria that the spoons in the utensil cup should be positioned with the handles up. She puts them in with scoop-end up so when someone grabs a spoon, they can’t help touching the other scoop-ends of the spoons. He wasn’t sure she understood his strange request.

But my dad’s Germaphobia runs even deeper—especially when it comes to hotels. He won’t stay at a hotel unless they have a washable duvet. And if they don’t, he asks for extra sheets so he can make his own duvet out of the bed. He also grabs the complimentary plastic bags at the TSA checkpoint and puts the hotel channel changer in it so he doesn’t have to touch the buttons. On the trip we’re on now, he bought Clorox wipes to wipe down all the handles, light switches, and sink faucets. Now I’m not THAT bad, but I can’t deny I didn’t applaud his actions either.

Above all, I don’t want to be rude to others. I put a stop to it there, even if I internally suffer. I will always shake someone’s hand even though my mind thinks, “Where has this thing been?”

At times I do voice up. I try to inform others of the proper way to sneeze, which is into your elbow and not your hand. I don’t know if people always appreciate my polite rebuke. For example, after the third time I got after my good friend Adam about sneezing into his hand, we got into a little riff.

“Dude, Adam. Listen! I’ve told you a gazillion times. Sneeze into your elbow!”

“No, Jenny, you listen. You’re the reason why society has created an army of Supergerms that are immune to our medicine and antibiotics. You and your stupid Purell. It’s actually healthy for your body to be exposed to bacteria so it can build up an immunity.”

Whether I’m creating Supergerms or protecting myself from inconsiderate individuals who don’t wash their hands after using the bathrooms, I don’t know. But my advice to my readers: Don’t think about it. Once you open your eyes to the world of germs that are all around us, there’s no going back.

**So if you want to date Jenny, for goodness’ sake sneeze into your elbow! Who knows what other bad habits would scare her away.

Many Europeans believe Americans are loud, unsophisticated, and poor dressers. I confirmed the first 2 points some time ago while on a ski vacation in Austria. I think Europe is the coolest. There is so much history (and castles!), the Snickers bars taste better, and the cows look so much happier and healthier (thus the better dairy).

But Europe has its setbacks. There is a disproportionate number of old people, the drinks never have ice, they don’t clean up after their dogs, and dinner is always a 3-hour affair. After more than a week of these 3-hour dinners on our trip, I was growing pretty restless every night waiting for our food.

After one particular day on the mountain, I was riding down the gondola to go back to our hotel with our friend Scott, who is a very POLITICALLY CORRECT, vegetable-eating, yoga-practicing, airline pilot. I had just realized I was starving, and I was dreading the thought of another long meal. I thought these dinners were such a waste of time, so I decided to voice my frustration to Scott.

“You know why the United States is the number one superpower in the world? We don’t waste half of our day eating food.”

Scott’s eyebrows rose off his head and motioned his hand over his throat for me to stop, but I was so adamant to justify my point that I continued,

“No…seriously….everyone hates Americans because they say we think we’re so much better. But really, we’re just not lazy like everyone else. We eat our meals in 20 minutes, our stores are opened until 9 pm, and we work in the month of August. We basically know how to get things done.”

Scott finally put his hand over my mouth and whispered for me to shut up. He then points to the 20 other Europeans in the gondola now staring at me. At that moment, I remembered that practically every Scandinavian or German speaks English and I had just royally put my foot in my mouth. Scott then turns to the large Dutchman sitting on the bench and said, “Please excuse her, she actually is one of those dumb Americans.”

At dinner, Scott retells my social blunder to our group and said that even though I generalize and stereotype against anyone who wasn’t like me (which isn’t true), he admired my patriotism. Scott then starts chanting, “U-S-A! U-S-A!” and pretty soon everyone else joins in.

So to this day, whenever I make a political or social comment about the world, (to my chagrin) my family starts chanting “U-S-A! U-S-A!”

**Well, dear reader, please realize Jenny was young, naive, and oblivious to her surroundings when she made that comment. She behaves more appropriately in public now. If you’re out on a date with Jenny, and she starts sharing with you her global views—whether complimentary or not—you may have to stop her from making her point, or at least make sure she keeps her voice down.