A Query about Cleanliness
Yesterday, my son, fearless of grime, scum, and germs, pulled out the plug to the bathtub and looked as though he was going to place it in his mouth.
“Whoa,” I said, OCD alarms sounding in my psyche. “Don’t put that in your mouth. It’s not the cleanest thing in the world.”
He raised his head and asked, “What is the cleanest thing in the world?”
For reasons I’ve yet to discern, I answered with the first thing that popped in my head.
“Newborn babies.”
The boy scrunched up his eyes and replied, dubiously, “Really?”
“Well, newly bathed newborn babies.”
He didn’t buy it. I’m not sure I do either, and yet I thought it and answered with it. Our exchange got me thinking about the meaning of cleanliness. Clearly I didn’t associated perfect cleanliness with sterility, but perhaps I should. And yet I still like my initial response and am inclined to stick with it.
How would you answer the question, “What’s the cleanest thing in the world?
A hound’s tooth. Everybody knows that.
A whistle comes in a close second, of course.
Mitt Romney’s mind?
Sometimes a slate or a sweep or a rap sheet…
And then there’s always the getaway (which accounts for the rap sheet, perhaps…)
The fire engine of the Penny Lane fireman.
Or the girl in “You shook me all night long.”
Warsh the kid’s elbow and say “now *THIS* is the cleanest thing in the world. You are allowed to put this elbow in your mouth.”
You’re welcome.
Anything that comes a-steamin’ out of the autoclave.
This may not be the funniest response but is almost certainly the correct one.
It’s funny. There’s a whole bunch of comments about cleanliness over in the thread about Rush over at The 49th right now.
The kilogram?
Monk’s apartment
the patty duke show
Ahah! This is so funny. I love it. How old is your son? And Jaybird, love the elbow trick. That was hilarious, and I will DEFINITELY use that on my 2 year old. Anyway Kyle, I’m not sure what I would say, but I am sure that newborn babies are closest thing to man glorified, in this fallen world, aside from Christ.
An unused, still in the package bar of soap.
Of course, once used, it becomes rather quickly an object whose filth is such that you get leery about even touching it again. I’ve switched to gels.