Of french fries and shot glasses
Several years back, a friend of mine had to give a lecture to a group of people. It was in her job description and she, being not so fond of people or lectures, tried to get out of it. Unfortunately, all her co-workers were unavailable that evening and she was stuck clicking through PowerPoint discussing very very boring things. With people she didn't particularly enjoy.
She called me on her way home--and by home I mean McDonald's so she could drown her sorrows in french fries--to ask me if I wanted nuggets. I asked her how the lecture went.
She said, "I'd rather chew glass than do that ever again."
I did not get nuggets. I did not eat for at least 24 hours. Cause I kept thinking about chewing glass. Chewing glass. Eghhhhhhhhhhhhh. Once I get an image in my mind like that I can't get it away and I start to imagine glass stuck between my teeth. I start to imagine little shards that I can't get out. And it's so gross. So gross.
Fast forward to New Year's Eve. We had a very ... happy party at our house. With lots of people and other things too. The next morning, after I had made 18 eggs to feed the masses of people I started to run the garbage disposal and it made an awful, awful noise. So awful that I had to ask Ryan to stick his hand down in there and see what was causing all the trouble.
He pulled out a giant piece of glass.
A piece of glass that barely resembled a shot glass.
I yelled at him to get his hands out of there! It was dangerous! Lacerations! But he continued to pull pieces of glass out until I could recognize not one but two former shot glasses.
He spent another ten minutes, sleeves rolled up, cleaning out the garbage disposal while I sat in another room thinking of flowers and puppies. When he finally announced it was done I returned to the egg-scramblin'.
But tonight, when I went to run the disposal again, I felt the chards of glass in my skin, on my hands, in my mouth, between my teeth. So gross. I don't think I'll ever eat, drink, or touch anything ever again.
***
Comment moderation is back on because the bots were trying to turn my blog into porn. Hopefully, the "trusted commenter" thing should work better this time.
Also, I tried to post this yesterday but my blog was broken. Boo hoo.
Comments
Knock, know.
Who's there?
Boo!
Boo who?
Don't cry. I didn't mean to scare you.
Posted by: heather anne | January 5, 2007 10:24 AM
Oh dear. What a dramatic misanthrope this friend of yours is. :) Miss you--
Posted by: LP | January 5, 2007 10:40 AM
oh, that's how I feel about hair. I sometimes imagine finding it everywhere, including my beloved filet-of-fish. And now I have to find something else for dinner. Preferably something made in my own home.
Posted by: Heather B. | January 5, 2007 12:12 PM
This reminds me of a convo from Mixed Nuts:
"Tell me, in any of your calls has anybody impaled themselves?"
"Stanley, Lifesavers is about to go out of business!"
"They must, they must."
"They must what?"
"They must drink glass."
Posted by: Emily | January 5, 2007 2:22 PM
I imagine my teeth being ground up in gears. Always. Crushed and bloody, stumps in my mouth.
Posted by: Amanda Mae | January 5, 2007 3:40 PM
Were those "shilbo" shot glasses?
Posted by: Sally | January 5, 2007 8:18 PM
Eeeew. That's very strange. And I can't understand how you can't get the broken glass and its disgusting, painful consequences out of your head.
But then again, I guess for me this is how I feel about bugs, especially those that can't be seen by the naked eye. Gross.
Posted by: Aakanksha | January 7, 2007 12:09 AM