*Update: It appears that my wound is healing nicely. I really dodged a bullet this time. (So much for my plan of having a hook for a hand. Maybe next time.)
Yesterday I was flea combing the animals to make sure there were no stragglers left. We had a flea epidemic that lasted too long thanks to the cats that just don't want to part with their new found friends. That and the cats never go outside so the fleas don't get frozen off like they do on the dogs. I have given the dogs flea baths and it is a chore I don't care to repeat too often. The big dog turns into a pile of jelly and won't move a muscle to help me get him in or out of the tub, so I have to do it one leg at a time. The little dog fights tooth and nail against getting a bath, which covers me in nasty flea shampoo and the water that is tainted with flea shampoo and any fleas that fell off. I won't bathe the cats. That is my little sister's job. The cats fight with every ounce of their rotten selves and shred anything they can get ahold of, so Sugarbowl emerges from the bathroom covered in bleeding scratches and tatters of skin barely attached. Anyhoo, after flea combing the animals and removing any guests that have over stayed their welcome, I stabbed my hand with the flea comb. A dirty, nasty, not-sterilized flea comb! It ripped a hole in my hand, causing me great panic and forced me to run to the bathroom and wash my hands with antibacterial soap under hot water until my hands cracked and bled. I almost grabbed the bleach, but had second thoughts about the wiseness of that plan of action. I swear I can feel it rotting. I can feel the infection seeping into my blood stream. I don't want to overreact, but I think an amputation may be in my future.
Adding to my deteriorating health, I swallowed a gnat this morning. I didn't check my coffee in time and down the hatch it went. Goodness only knows where that thing has been. I can't stop the visions of it hanging out on a dog turd in the backyard and getting tired of the cold so it wanted to warm up in my coffee! Or buzzing around in my gorgeous hamster's cage, feeding on his poop and pee saturated pine shavings only leaving to share my coffee with me. I probably have the plague festering in me as I type. Maybe I should make a will...?
Lastly, I am at war with all the hair that everyone sheds around here. Last night in bed I pulled a long dark hair out of my mouth. I have short blond hair. Sugarbowl's bf/f is dark haired and sheds almost as bad as the rest of the things in this house. He also will shave and trim his goatee and not notice the thick coating of hair left all over the sink. I don't know how many times I have grabbed a towel getting out of the shower and rubbed myself down before noticing all the dark, curly, (hate to think of this) probably pubies, hairs clinging to me. We usually have our own towels in the bathroom and they know how anal I am, so it bothers me to think that they are using my towel to wipe down their... unmentionables (read "genitals"). I have warned my little sister that if she does not start taking her hairballs out of the shower -- because it makes me sick to have to remove others nasty hairballs clogging the drain -- I am going to start putting them on her side of the bed. She knows me well enough to remove her hairballs, but sometimes she forgets. When she forgets, I take the hairball and put it on her face cleaner's spout so that she has to touch it to dispense her cleaner. It has really slowed down the amount of hairball buildup.
I feel so dirty, diseased and hair covered. Be glad that I may be quarantined soon so that I can't spread the germs.
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