Sometimes it's better not to share

I have a horror of the floors in swimming pool changing rooms.

Small Person loves swimming, and I have promised to take her on Sunday. This will be fine, until we are out of the pool and getting dressed. At this point, I become obsessed to the point of nausea with the slimy, dirty floor I am forced to stand on while drying off. Other people's shoes, other people's feet, that faint smell of wee, the thought of that gutter filled with stagnant crud that runs through the middle of the changing rooms and that people sometimes, unfathomably, are happy to let their children paddle in. It all conspires to give me the creeping horrors and by the time I pull my socks on I am frantically thinking about puppies, or spring flowers, or baby lambs in an effort not to go shrieking through the communal change area, waving my arms above my head and retching.

This general ooginess about other people's slime extends to jacuzzis at gyms or public swimming pools. There is something unpleasant about the thought of sitting in an overwarm stew of other people's pubic hair and toenails. I have no idea why anyone would choose to do it, and it finally seems that the scientific community agrees.

You might want to finish eating before you have a look here.