I have certain Sunday rituals which include shaving my legs and doing my nails. The "doing my nails" portion includes clipping my toenails which are roughly the density of horse hooves. Today, as I was clipping my toenails, one got away from me. I search all over my bedroom floor and it was nowhere to be found. Crap.
I moved on to the shaving legs portion of my exciting Sunday morning and was interrupted by the need to blow my nose. As I blew a hearty blow, a booger flew out of my left nostril. I saw it go. I followed the path of the errant boog and, once again, couldn't find it. Double crap.
As I was on the floor looking for the runaway nose stopper, I raked up a handful of hair from my bathroom carpet. Guess it's time to vacuum.
I gave up on the booger and got in the shower and used one of my shampoos I hadn't used in a while and, Oh My God, the gunk under the bottle was not pretty. Wiped that up.
So, here I sit at my computer using my mouse which has patches of black body oils and heaven only knows what kind of bacteria thriving on it, to make a point. If this house should ever need a thorough CSI sweep, God forbid, with infrared cameras and magnifying thingys and chemical analysis, I will be forever branded a filthy person who didn't deserve to live anyway. Case closed.
This is what I need from you, my adoring readers. When the report appears in the newspaper about the squalid conditions in which Ms. Anderson lived, you must all write letters to the editor demanding a retraction. Tell them it was lies, all lies! She was not a disgusting person. You read it in her blog so it must be true.