Mary + Her Mental Health

This morning I was rinsing out my cup when I jumped back three feet as something icky moved out from under a plate in the sink. I swear it was three inches long. Naturally, one is required to whimper like a baby, scream a little, and run out of the kitchen temporarily when one sees a three-inch MONSTER with 12 million legs and loooong antennae scurrying around one’s sink. It wanted to kill me, I could tell. It lurched at me. I think I even saw a switchblade in one of its tentacles. I had to defend myself. I turned on the water, and apologized to multi-leg creepy thing, but he was going to die and I was going to kill him. As he’s scuttles furiously to the far edge of the sink, away from the water, I’m shouting at him: “It’s okay, just go toward the light! It’s your time, man! Just accept it! You’re going to be in a better place! Far better than this crummy sink! It’s your time, man! Just die already!” I’m splashing him with water because he’s too far from the faucet. Then, at last, he loses his grip and slides to his doom toward the center of the sink. I move the faucet directly over him and crank it, “I’m trying to make this quick, pal! Work with me here!” I probably drowned him for much longer than I needed to, but just like in so many suspense movies, I’m terrified that he's not really dead. Never trust that they’re really dead.

Creepy guy is finally gone. Then comes the part where I have to take him out of the sink and throw him away. I hate this part. I don’t want to feel him, so I grab 67 napkins, pick him up and throw him away in the garbage. RIP, you son of a....



[photo stolen from Kelly's Blog, because this is exactly what he looked like.]