Winning The Disgusting Trifecta
Some days you have to wash your hands so many times you just want to hang it up and take a second (or third) shower. Today was one of those days. First, and sincerely struggling not to be too graphic, I had to plunge a toilet, a job I hate hate hate and would never ask the kids to do because that would be cruel but my real reason is they'd surely mess it up and then I'd have an even bigger mess on my hands. Besides, it's important my kids see me using tools because I'm their only parent, and they need to understand that girls and women can do most of the same things men can do. So I got out the plunger and the scrubber and the bleach to eradicate one of the worst clogs I've ever seen, and carried everything out to the garage in a bucket to a chorus of "Ew ew ew eeeww!"
Then I washed my hands and washed my hands again.
After dinner my son decided to clean out the aquarium recently vacated by two very sad little fish. In his youthful impulsiveness -- er -- enthusiasm, yeah, that's the word -- he scooped eight gallons of seriously fermented aquarium water into a huge bucket and then couldn't lift it, so I carried it through the kitchen and dumped it in another toilet, which I then had to clean inside and out because you try dumping eight gallons of nasty water without splashing or spilling and then let me know how you accomplished it.
I washed my hands a few more times, this time well past the wrists.
Then I noticed the aquarium pump, coated with green schlucky stuff, abandoned on the kitchen counter next to the sink -- a perfectly functional pump which I was tempted to pitch because I'd been grossed out enough for one day, but I just couldn't because I hate wasting anything, so I scrubbed off the green glop, dumped the pump in the fish bucket in the garage, and went back to the kitchen to scrub the sink, again, and wash my hands, again and again and again, this time well past the elbows.
If I'd had the stomach for it I could also have cleaned out the robot vacuum brushes but geez, that's enough for one evening.
Then I washed my hands and washed my hands again.
After dinner my son decided to clean out the aquarium recently vacated by two very sad little fish. In his youthful impulsiveness -- er -- enthusiasm, yeah, that's the word -- he scooped eight gallons of seriously fermented aquarium water into a huge bucket and then couldn't lift it, so I carried it through the kitchen and dumped it in another toilet, which I then had to clean inside and out because you try dumping eight gallons of nasty water without splashing or spilling and then let me know how you accomplished it.
I washed my hands a few more times, this time well past the wrists.
Then I noticed the aquarium pump, coated with green schlucky stuff, abandoned on the kitchen counter next to the sink -- a perfectly functional pump which I was tempted to pitch because I'd been grossed out enough for one day, but I just couldn't because I hate wasting anything, so I scrubbed off the green glop, dumped the pump in the fish bucket in the garage, and went back to the kitchen to scrub the sink, again, and wash my hands, again and again and again, this time well past the elbows.
If I'd had the stomach for it I could also have cleaned out the robot vacuum brushes but geez, that's enough for one evening.
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