So yesterday I accidentally did something super-disgusting. (If you've "liked" the blog on Facebook, you probably saw my post about it.) I'm kind of surprised I'm still sitting here and didn't like keel over with the sheer overwhelming nastiness. It was yucky. Barf-o-rama. Fifty Shades of Gross.
You still reading? Good. You must not be eating anything at the moment. And if you are, stop. You'll thank me later.
I was sitting here at my computer with the baby, Corbin, on my lap. He was about to fall asleep. I decided that while he was still, I'd pick a couple of boogers out of his nose. You know the type of kid whose nose is always crusty? Yeah, that's Corbin for like the past month. The boys have been passing around this cold and this poor baby has been perpetually snotty. I cannot keep his nose clean for the life of me - partially because when I come at him with a Kleenex, he acts like I'm trying to fill his nostrils with battery acid.
Anyway. Using my pinky fingernail, I gingerly picked a couple of green, crusty boogers from his nose. But then I realized I had a slight problem: nothing to wipe them on. If I got up to get a tissue, I'd wake him. And my older kids were all at school - so there was no one to fetch me one. So I put the boogers on the counter beside my computer and thought to myself, "As soon as I'm able to put him down, I'll come back to clean those up."
In a few minutes Corbin was sound asleep enough to put down, so I went and laid him on my bed. Then I had to pee. Then I got a text. Then I looked out my window. Then I folded some laundry. Then I danced in front of my mirror for like five minutes (what?? Like you've never done it. Psshh).
Then I decided I wanted a snack. I got some cheese out of the fridge.
And what goes better with cheese than Facebook? Right? So I sat down at my computer and started eating my cheese and browsing Facebook.
And I wanted to comment on a status. And I needed both hands to type. And I set my cheese down ... on the counter beside my computer.
Yeah. See where this is going?
When I took my next bite of cheese, I noticed - a few chews in - that something in my cheese was a different texture than the rest of it. I stopped chewing. My stomach dropped in horror as my eyes drifted, in slow-motion, to the booger on the counter.
Just a single lonely, crusty booger. Sitting there without its bigger companion. Where there had been two, there was now only one. And I had a pretty good idea where the other one was located: somewhere between my molars.
Obviously I spit out my mouthful of cheese-slash-booger, but the psychological damage was done. I had been noshing on someone else's booger. Not that it would have been any better if it had been my own, but -
Ah, who am I kidding. Yes it would have.
But not much.