Did you know you're supposed to recite the alphabet while you wash your hands? Yup. I just read that in the American Society of Microbiology's step-by-step instructions on how to wash your hands in a public restroom. I know their point is that that length of time equals clean hands. But if they're correct that people need such detailed instructions on handwashing, I wish they had also noted that one should not say the alphabet aloud. Now I keep imagining a long line of people singing the alphabet song as they briskly scrub their hands. Did you also know that if there are 16 hurricanes this year, there will be a Hurricane Patty? I have to stop clicking on odd links, because since I surfed across that fact I've been hoping for 16 hurricanes. I want to be a record-setting, whopper of a storm, but stay at sea and do no damage. This season's sign of age: Remembering that long ago the sight of a spider brought forth an involuntary shriek loud enough to raise the dead, followed by a plea for help. Now I just find a shoe and kill it. (Killing a crunchy bug does still make me cringe, however.) I'm a chocoholic. There. They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. I confess, I'm not a classy chocoholic; I have plebeian tastes. I understand Godiva is supposed to be the ultimate, but give me Fannie May every day--at least once a day! Or Lindt. And we won't discuss the number of occasions I have disappeared to dark, secret places, reappearing with a guilty smile of bliss and sticky fingers after devouring those disgusting, chocolate-coated, marshmallow bunnies that apparently multiply overnight at Brach's. Please excuse me while I take a chocolate break. I have decided I have no wish to recover. |
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