Germs, Deer, Neutered Pets

As I'm sitting here reading my Oprah magazine that I got from the library, a thought went through my head. "So how many people got this magazine before I did, and how many picked their nose while reading it?" I can't even remember the article I was reading (but I'm sure that it was quite informative) because I started to gag at the all too clear image in my head. As is always the case, my brain didn't stop there at grossing me out. It got worse. (Don't say I didn't warn you.)

"Eddi," said my brain, "How many people used this as their potty library?" Seriously? Why did my brain have to go there? The thought of some nose-fingering nasty woman (or man, if there are any men that appreciate Oprah's fine literature) sitting on the pot with this very magazine on her lap while she answered the call of nature made me quit eating my dinner.

In one of my nursing classes we had a cool little light that we waved over our hands to see how well we washed our hands. It was really gross to see my wedding ring covered in green spots, but the good news is that experiment led me to discover hand sanitizer doesn't hurt gold or diamonds. I want one of those cool little light sabers to wave over my borrowed reading material. How awesome would it be to get a book, wave a wand over it, and then point to the person who last had it while saying, "I know where you've been." Of course, this has to be said in a spooky low tone & your eyes squinted.

I'm not a mysophobic (no, the word is not germaphobic); I'm germ-aware. There's a difference. Mysophobia makes me sound like I'm obsessed with it & makes people wonder why I'm the riddled-with-germs health care world. Germ-aware makes me sound smart. (You can stop laughing now.) See, there's a difference.

Anti-bacterial wipes are one of the best inventions ever. Ever! Anything that eeks me out dies an alcohol poisoned death. Fruit scented, no less.

It would really suck to be running around on the handle of a gas pump, flirting with some hot little germy, blasting the bass in your shnazzy little germy Maserati, brushing your germy hair off your germy shoulder, and then BAM! What's that smell? Lemon scented anti-bacterial wipes? Oh no, you'd only ever heard stories of these types of horrifying events and now it's really happening. Crap. Now your disfigured germy body is stuck in a bunched up wad of disinfecting tissue in a garbage can.

I wonder what kinds of conversations animals have. Deer, for instance. Do they stand at the side of the road saying, "Hey, bro, check it out. I can make this mini van stop so fast your head will spin, just by moving one foot & my head. First I'll step onto the road. Then I'll step back. Then I'll step on the road. Then I'll look back. Hahaha isn't that great?"

I know exactly what kind of conversations my pets are having tonight...
Watson the cat: "Dude, where'd you go off to today?"
Zipper the dog: "To the doctor. That bitch cut my manhood off. Who the hell does that?? I never did anything to her. I'm just laying around the house this morning then they pick me up and I'm all, yay car ride. Shoulda bit her when I had the chance."
Nemo the cat: "Hahahaha."
Sophie the cat: "If I were you I'd be more pissed about that funny haircut 'cause your tail looks like someone glued a cotton ball to your ass."
Nemo: "Bwahahaha."
Sophie: "Watch out, I heard the big lady bought more hair bows for your hair."
Zipper: "Shoot me."