Friday, May 23, 2008

An Unholy Trinity of Grossness (Potentially)

At this point, it's still just a duo, but I'm watching my back.

On Monday, Dad and I had our annual annual day (gardening joke! watch out!), and it was great. I look forward to it every year. We made our trip down to the garden store for all of our supplies, and I had the requisite visit with my old boss, jokes about me coming back, and inevitable questions from customers who either recognize me from years ago, or think that I look like I know what I'm doing. This year, it was exacerbated by the fact that I was wearing my garden store logo hoodie. I am pleased to say that I still knew where the clematis was, still recommended a hardy sun-loving perennial, and still knew that it was not too late to seed cilantro. Who's still got it? I've still got it.

Anyhow, plants were procured, embarrassing jokes were made by Dad, and we headed back to the house to plant up flower pots and baskets. Three hours later, working away in the off and on rain but enjoying the day as I always do, I heard the thump of something falling out of the sky right beside me. "Hmmm," I thought. "That is odd." Come to think of it, that's pretty close to the reaction I upon finding the money in the bathroom a few months ago. I took a look around me, on the ground and under the table, and didn't see anything. Even though it didn't sound quite right, I decided that it must have been a plant falling over, and went back to my planting. A few minutes later, Dad came over to visit, and pretend to crack the whip, when he suddenly stopped and said "What the hell is this?" as he pulled a bone out of the pot right beside me. A bone about six inches long, from a pot about one foot away from me. It was picked completely clean, and was big enough that it had to come from a small animal which I would like to think was a rabbit, and not someone's cat. I guess a chihuahua would be ok as well, but most other small dogs do not bear thinking about, because I have a friend with a little moppet named Oreo who has thawed my heart with her endearing head tilt and delightfully entertaining stupidness. Anyhow, one foot to the left, and that fresh bone, likely from the beak of an eagle or other big bird would have hit my head. Ew. That is gross.

One day later, as I was getting ready for work in the morning, I noticed that there was some water on the bathroom counter that I ought to wipe up. Now, I do not pretend to be a stellar housekeeper, but I swear that I cleaned that bathroom just a week (or two?) before, and that I am not in the habit of cultivating mold, in any location, much less in such close proximity to things I regularly put in my mouth, on my hands, and on my face. But there it was, when I lifted my little wicker makeup basket to wipe up some of the brownish water (which was gross enough) in which it was sitting. I picked it up, took a peek at the bottom, and discovered some happy, fuzzy little mold bits grinning back at me, no doubt grateful for their cozy little home in such a prestigious place, millimeters away from things like my eyeshadow, make up brushes, and mascara. Things I regularly touch to my face. Obviously, I set about spraying everything down with a strong cleaner until I could get home at night to burn or boil the remaining bits.

As I ducked out of work that afternoon to buy new makeup, and a new makeup-holder in the form of a ceramic bowl which could be tossed in the damn dishwasher every few weeks, I contemplated this new grossness, so close to the bony ickyness of the day before. Too close for comfort, if you ask me. They say things come like this come in threes, so I'm wondering: what's next? A slug in my shoe? R. Kelly sitting next to me on the bus? Whatever it is, I'm on the look out. As for Lucky, wicker is on the list of things he really hates, for reasons about which he is passionate, that he will happily list to any of our friends who bring up the subjects, either unwittingly, or knowing full well that the next few minutes at a pub or party will be entertaining, as his voice rises and his blood pressure goes up, thinking about Salmon Arm, wicker, or synchronized swimming. I'm not kidding. So anyways, if you regularly stand or sit close to me, you might want to pack some disinfectant. Don't say I didn't warn you.

1 comment:

Dier said...

My dog made your heart thaw:)