I have a bone to pick with you.
Way back, when we first met, I made it pretty clear that I was not a fan of the ‘D’ word. But, as any conditioning will manage to achieve, I’ve become somewhat dependent on the piece of rubber designed to shut us up. Well done. You win.
Yet in an almost cruel twist of fate, I’m finding that you are keeping us between that which you have made damn sure I rely on. Oh yes. For every time my dummy falls on the floor (and it does happen, regularly), you feel the need to whisk it away to be wiped, washed or, in serious cases (like – heaven forbid – when it happens to touch your shoe), sterilised.
Ah, sterilisation. The bane of my life. Could you take a moment to explain why you deem it necessary to boil every single thing that touches my mouth, before it touches my mouth? You are aware that everything touches my mouth these days, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’re going to start sterilising my hands, too? (although after those visits to the nurse, I wouldn’t put anything past you.) At this juncture I must take a moment to pay my respects to my tall friend, Sophie, who suffered a cruel fate at the hands of one of her owner’s mummies when she met the steriliser … and ended up without a voice. (True story.)
Germs are hardly going to kill me. In fact, I reckon that the more I’m exposed to them (within reason, of course), the stronger my immune systems will be (and then maybe those visits to the nurse would not be required). It was only yesterday, after all, that news came out about the risk of a peanut allergy being cut by an exposure to peanuts from a young age. Go figure.
Besides, don’t think I haven’t seen you drop food on the floor before picking it up and eating it. Several times a day. if the three-second rule is good enough for you, it’s good enough for me.
You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which we later rely on in cot.