You know you’ve turned into a relatively crappy blogger when your readers start liking posts you wrote months ago.
I have a job, and I accompany voice students (let’s leave the escort jokes in our back pockets for now, thanks bye), and I’m in a show, and I have a cat, and my husband insists upon eating regular meals, which hasn’t always happened.
So I got busy, is what I’m saying. So busy that I felt as though I couldn’t possibly sit down and compose a blog post in 10 minutes or less.
False. Blogging: I’m doing it wrong.
A note about my physical stature: I’m petite. And not just in the short way. In the “I could fold you up and put you in my pocket” sort of way. I’ve essentially always been smallish, except for a couple of years when I decided to try on obesity (I didn’t like it), and I’ve learned to adapt.
A note about our garbage dumpster: It is, of course, taller than I am, and I live amongst some very rule-abiding neighbors who keep the lid down at all times, bless their hearts.
And, of course, this doesn’t require any special disclaimer or note (but here it is anyhow): I have to take the garbage out sometimes. I like to think Husband will do it all the time, but that is simply not the case, and this particular garbage bag had double-plastic bag-wrapped kitty poos, which essentially meant ain’t no one touching that thing but me.
So I took it outside and left it by our door for a few hours because that’s how I roll. I had to build up the gumption to actually make the trek to our dumpster, is all I’m saying. And when I picked it up, I didn’t notice the puddle that had accumulated under the bag.
For whatever reason, it pooled, but it didn’t leak a trail on the way to the dumpster, which to tell you the truth would have been helpful under the circumstances of the following events.
1. I made it to the dumpster.
2. I opened the lid with one hand, about six inches, because I am nothing if not a total weakling.
3. I tried to sling the garbage bag into the dumpster.
4. That failed, and I ended up slinging it more towards my face.
5. I got garbage juice on my mouth.
ON. MY. MOUTH.
There are few things more traumatizing for a germophobe that garbage and dumpsters in general, so as you can imagine, I am about ready to call my therapist for an emergency session because, guys. ON MY MOUTH.
And then, for good measure, hours later I discovered I got it in my hair, too.
So. I’m back, you’re welcome, and yes I scrubbed extra hard in the shower today.