Dear lady standing next to me at the public bathroom sink,
Yes, I have an issue, and it’s called OCD. The chemical misfires in my brain tell me that if I don’t wash my hands exactly as prescribed by professionals, my hands will be contaminated with all sorts of nastiness from touching the stall room doors– to the detriment and deterioration of my personal health.
Of course, you realize this too, that’s why you’re washing your hands. But you don’t do it with the same urgency, the same conviction, the same desperate scrubbing motions and the “Oh man, I lost count there, am I at two minutes or only one and half?”