The Art of Selection Bias

I write this as I lay in bed kicking myself for posting a few days late. I can't believe I totally forgot to post, and because I have a plethora of mysophobic stories to relate I cannot fathom what would possess me to neglect the catharsis that is my blog.
Then I realized it was my boyfriends fault.
My boyfriend is a man, meaning he has a beard and bushy eyebrows (both of which come with their unique set of microscopic flesh-eating mites. seriously.), he washes his hands for 10 seconds at the very most (violation! should be 20), he will eat things that fell on the floor and he has been known to wear the same shirt around all day. In any other human being, these attributes would be the same level of heinous as Jeffrey Dahmer's extracurricular activities, pre-conviction. What is so aggravating to me is that Boyfriend is an exception to every obsessive-compulsive rule regarding human interaction and contact that I stand by. He is somehow immune. How did this happen? I suspect there must be nanobots involved in this, but that is for a different conversation.
I digress. The point is that I forgot to post on Tuesday because I was with him all weekend, and apparently engulfed in the amnesty of Boyfriend's germ-repellent qualities.
What I have deduced is Darwinian, if I do say so myself: through the forces of Nature, Boyfriend has been selected to surpass my phobia and thus interact (i.e. touch without dire consequences involving Lysol) with me. What exactly he possesses that accomplishes this is far beyond me, and I certainly have not yet ruled out nanobots. In any case, he is good company and has no qualms giving me a public lecture on the "ridiculousness" of some of my more specific tendencies (seriously, NO ONE was going to tell that little girl to cover her hellish, coughing mouth. I was doing the community at large a service.) Some even go so far as to say this dynamic is good for me, similar to the way a little germ exposure benefits my immune system. I am usually too distracted by the fumes of my anti-bacterial hand gel to fully absorb the good-intentioned nature of this advice, but I am almost certain the people saying it have the Cold and are just bitter about it. Suckers.
Boyfriend is turning in his sleep and is showing early signs of an REM sneeze. I barely know who I am when I say this could not bother me less. Natural selection, people.