A Scary (Sponge) Story
So I might as well tell you now – because, Lord knows, you guys will find out soon enough – that I have a lot of quirks.
Like, for instance, I’m a gum addict who chews at least two pieces at a time. At least. I’ve cut back from my pack-a-day habit, but I could still easily fritter away hours a day contentedly gnawing, like a golden retriever, on a massive wad of gum until I have sucked every last flavor crystal out of it. And I’ll even mix flavors, too.
Peppermint and bubblegum? I ain’t skerred.
Anyhoo, somewhere near the top of my long, long list of neurotic quirks are sponges.
More specifically, gross sponges.
I think it has to do with being somewhat of a germophobe, but I have what can only be described as a “thing” about them. So much so that I even listed it in my “Who the heck is Erin?” section off to the right of this post.
Seriously, take a look. I’ll wait…
See? It’s right there. And why? Because it’s something I feel you should know about me before we go any further in this relationship.
And it’s sponges specifically — I don’t even mind germs in most other forms really. But, for some reason, if there’s a two-day-old sponge lurking around that smells even slightly funky, game over.
And what is that old sponge smell anyway? It’s like a combination of mildew, wet dog and the inside of an old Civil War trunk all in one. I guarantee you we eat nothing in our house that might ever potentially produce that smell. So where does it magically come from?
Ok, I feel you’ve been appropriately briefed on my deep-seated sponge issues. Moving on…
So, ladies and gentlemen, imagine my complete and utter horror when I innocently stop by the office breakroom to wash a coffee cup and come face-to-face with…
What IS that??
Going against every natural instinct for self-preservation, I chance a closer look.
I know it’s blurry. But I wasn’t sticking around for a second shot.
I immediately whip my palms to my face in self-defense, shut my eyes tight and turn my head away with my mouth frozen in a silent scream like you see every female victim do in Hitchcock movies.
Do people in the office actually use this? And how, in this modern-day era of advanced health awareness and disease prevention, is this moldy, bacteria-infested zombie-sponge acceptable??
This will haunt every fiber of my being for a long, long time.
Oh, and then I saw a ghost.
(Phew! I hope I didn’t scare you guys too much…)