I woke up this morning determined to take on the world, because I have spent the last four days hobbling around the apartment wracked with joint pain and exhaustion, taking melatonin to sleep and ibuprofen to sit up and St. John's Wort to stay relaxed, and let me tell you: feeling ninety at thirty-seven is not all it's cracked up to be.
So, I was going to get up and take on the world this morning, but it turned out that I still needed a little ibuprofen to do that. Fine.
Then, it became apparent that without a carafe of coffee, I was going to remain in some kind of twilight catatonia, so I made a fresh pot of coffee. I spilled part of that pot of coffee and burned my arm while trying to pour it into a mug. Luckily, I already had ibuprofen in my system. Fine.
I stepped on not one cat but TWO cats, one with the left foot and one with the right foot, in two steps. Fine.
I found myself falling down the disturbing rabbit hole known as vagazzling in the name of a MamaPop article about Jennifer Love Hewitt. Ick, but FINE.
It was time to eat, I decided, because, damn, all that fine stuff can work up an appetite. I grabbed a bowl off the counter that I thought was clean, filled it with wonton soup, and heated it up. It was delicious. It was so delicious, in fact, that I decided to lick out the bowl, which I did, until my tongue hit a soft bubble of pink meat that was foreign to my wonton soup. I pulled the bowl away from face, wiped off my chin, and examined its edges. There were a couple of dried nubs of hardened meat along the lip. And then it dawned on me:
CAT FOOD. (see also NOT FINE)
I bolted into the kitchen and counted the cat food bowls on the floor from the night before. One, two... I looked again. One, two... Where was the other one? We have THREE cats.
Well, I can tell you where that other one was. THE THIRD CAT FOOD BOWL WAS THE LAST THING THAT I HAD BEEN RUNNING MY TONGUE ALL OVER. I'm pretty sure that I just ingested dog, horse, and lab rat butts.
Are there bleach dilutions that are safe enough for gargling? Is there such a thing as an esophageal brush?