A few weeks ago, the hormone fluctuations from my recent hysterectomy overcame me and I suddenly had weird maternal-ish nesting-type impulses and I needed a kitten. Somehow I took a parking lot commission from Josh when he said that a gray one was cuter than an orange one in this totally defrauding picture on the Facebook Classifieds, and so I got both. Both gray and orange kittens, which came complete with ringworm, which now infects officially one third of the elementary school. This is not an exaggeration. Anyone who knew the first name of any of my children contracted ringworm by osmosis. The principle was so grossed out that he sent two whole families home (one of which was mine), until the doctor personally called him to calm him down. (SLIGHT exaggeration). Thanks to my stupid, hormonal cuddling instincts.
|SPAWN OF SATAN!!!^^^^|
In other disgusting news, I also have a wart on my toe which started long before my hysterectomy or my newest hormonal upheavals. A wart that hurts like someone is drilling into the joint of my left baby toe with an ice auger that is on fire. I didn't know that warts hurt until this one did. I have treated it with everything I can think of, including but not limited to: duct tape, apple cider vinegar, OTC wart remover, colloidal silver, oil of oregano and industrial freezing at the doctors office, and so far, it's only gotten worse. It's almost like God is just saying to me that He wants me to have a disgusting, filthy world full of warts and fungus. He wants me to know that I live in the Dirtiest House That Ever Stood, even though we just cleaned it really well on Sunday. I feel like I should have to shower three times before I am allowed to go to work, and I need to apologize for the wart on my toe to everyone that can't even see it. I blame the frogs I have been kissing. You know who you are. On the positive side of all this, the pain from my warty toe gets so bad sometimes that it distracts me from my post-surgery non-uterine pelvic pain. So that's good.
It's kind of ironic and hilarious (if you have had enough wine to make it so) that before I'd even had those darn kittens for two weeks that I was already disgusted by them. (DO NOT TELL JOSH) I am not convinced that any amount of adorable-hanging-from-the-curtains-and-the-screen-door can make up for ringworm, or the collection of little kitten potties that we found in my canning kettle, which was sitting on the dining room floor for days. Why? You ask? I have no idea. Because sometimes canning kettles just live in the dining room. On the floor. Nor do I know why kittens would poop in a canner when there is a perfectly good litter box nearby. Because kittens are foul, disgusting little entities of horridness that out on a cute disguise and then ruin your life. Our kittens, Whisky and Daisy, now live outside. ENTIRELY outside. Which worked great until they found the dog door. Now the dog door has to be locked, so we come home to the occasional puddle of unclaimed dog pee in the laundry room, near the dog door, with an imaginary note that says "I'm sorry. I tried." Anyway, I no longer drink Whisky Daisies.
*Author's note: This was originally composed in mid January. Being completely overwhelmed and disgusted with everything, I couldn't air it publicly until now. There were many things that I just couldn't choke out in this setting. And then there were so many things that I hadn't said, it was like when you don't do any laundry for SO LONG that it seems like it would just be easier to burn down the house and go shopping for new clothes because you have no idea where to begin. But then you get that first load of disgusting, moldy clothes all fresh and perky from the dryer, and it motivates you to force the kids to do all of the rest of the laundry. Except if I turned kids loose on catching up my blog, I can only imagine... Shudder to think. (so much for transparency and not living in hiddenness.)
But for the record, the ringworm is all but gone, with a few remaining traces that are there just to remind me of HOW GROSS.