Today I found a cup of milk under the dining table. Actually, it was no longer milk, but lumpy yogurt. Vomit, yuck, vomit. Truth be told, I saw that cup sitting under the table last night and was pretty confident that it contained milk, but I thought, "What the hell. I'll get it when I clean house tomorrow."
However, while shaking the cup out and listening to the "glop, glop, glop" of chunky milk plopping into the sink I thought, "I am a disgusting human being."
No, really, I am. I don't mean to be, but as it turns out that's the way God made me. The other day I found a Cheerio stuck to my toe and, since it appeared to be clean, I let my baby eat it. Why? Because I'm disgusting and he really wanted that Cheerio. And no, that wasn't the last Cheerio, but the box was located in the kitchen and I was in the living room. You understand.