Monday, November 1, 2010

I'm not Fearless

There are 3 things in this world that terrify me more than anything else:

1) Pigs. They will fool you with their cute noses and oinks. Then, they will eat you. Every last bit of you. And a CSI team will have to pick bone fragments out of pig poo to piece you back together for identification.

2) Revolving Doors. They fool you into thinking they're fun and functional. Yet, when you run into the glass in one, or get trapped inside of one on a cruise ship, the enemies have won.

3) Porta-Potties. Really? Do I need to even explain why? WHAT IF SOMEONE THINKS IT'S FUNNY TO PUSH IT OVER AND YOU GET COVERED IN POOP?

Ah yes, so there are my deepest darkest fears revealed. However, on top of "fears" there are also things that just kinda give me the "heebie-jeebies." Ya know, things like palmetto bugs (cockroaches) and snakes and washcloths.

Yup. Washcloths.

The funny thing about that is that we have an over-abundance of them in our linen closet. This is for two reasons: 1) Puff uses them on occasion to apply a topical medicine and 2) Whenever you mention to Granny that you don't have any washcloths, you will get 20 of them for Christmas. But clean, nicely folded cloths in my linen closet don't worry me. It's the USED ones that freak me out. Namely, ones used by other people outside of me and Puff.

Cue a visit from The MIL this past weekend. (The visit probably warrants a rant in and of itself, but I'll refrain from throwing anyone in particular under the bus today and just say that I did my very best to not ask her if I should go find her tiara and sash to crown her top "Drama Queen.") I had to work both Saturday and Sunday mornings, so I was out of the house on Saturday before she even got out of bed. Then Sunday morning happened. I had to be to work before 8am, so I was up at the crack of dawn (OK, so there wasn't even a crack yet... it was still pitch black outside) and stumbled into the bathroom in a sleepy stupor. I brushed my teeth. I peed. Then I went to get in the shower. And there it was. A dirty pink washcloth, hanging limp over the side of the tub, right where I pull back the curtain to step inside. And I know it doesn't belong to me. And it doesn't belong to Puff.

I went back into the bedroom and told Puff he had to deal with it. I'm not touching that thing. Ewwww!!!!
So, he slides out of bed, mumbles his unhappiness, and just picks up the thing like it's nothing, wads it up in his hand, and throws it in his dirty laundry pile. Dude... you probably just got old lady vagina & butt juice on your hand.

Really... that should bother him. Pardon me while I go and dry heave over a trash can.

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