Well, I'm not yakking about the romance genre again but rather the thoughts that strike you out of the blue when you are perishing of ennui in a hellishly boring lecture. Maybe hell is more interesting than the lecture. (Not that I care to find out at any time now or in the future.) Anyway, my mind dragged up from my cat�s litter that is my repository for my memories, a passage I recently perused in a Susan Johnson novel. Her novels are filled with torrid love-scenes, a higher proportion than that which is usually found in romance novels. In fact, I think on a literary pornographic scale, most romance novels rate between 1-5, she rates like an 8 I think.

That particular passage was about a nun, a white candle and choir boys being voyeurs. And no, I wasn�t turned on at all; if that is what you perverts out there were thinking. And no I am not going into what turns me on, thank you very much. But anyway, I sat there and recalled the passage and my reaction to it, before doing an outline for this entry.

Heh. Yes, it seems like I am not following my outline very well, but it happens. That is how I usually churn out my essays. Outline, flows of thought, procrastinate, digress, panic and write, write, write whatever comes to mind and doesn�t seem too off the tangent.

My reaction was one of absolute horror. Think of the germs! Does that silly woman know how many germs she is introducing into herself? I swear that was my reaction. Other than the grotesque contortions of shock on my face, which I couldn�t duplicate in the middle of the lecture, at the explicit thought of such blatant disregard for personal hygiene. Eech. She could have sterilised the candle first.

And then my neurotic mind goes on to throw up the possibility of me having sex. Horrors! How many germs are there on the guy�s penis? Imagine me in my most freaky obsessive-compulsive mood, whipping out rubbing alcohol just when things start to get interesting. And faster than you can say, �I�m actually a balding man with breast implants� the poor fellow�s pride and joy droops. Sheesh.

How obsessed with cleanliness can I get? And yes, the frightening thing is that the whole process of �How many germs can I get kissing the BF?� flashes through my brain sometimes when we make out. Oops. That doesn�t seem good for his ego is it? Bleah. I suppose when you are in the mood for some lustful canoodling it doesn�t really matter about germs. I should know.