Gross

Wanna hear something gross?

You know, I was asked that question as a kid all the time by my friends, my brothers, and the occasional adult.  I always said "yes". 

No one asks me anymore.  And, no one says "yes" now. 

Damn adulthood! 

Wanna hear something gross?  Yes?

Good.

So I was riding my bike on Friday night.  Because anything can happen, I carried my backpack which contained my wallet, my phone, and my keys. 

Now, lately, we've had an infestation of crickets in San Antonio.  Big, fat, creepy crickets. 

I hate bugs.

Not only are they everywhere but they seem to always jump at you.  I totally queen out when that happens and me queening out is not pretty. 

So, I was riding my bike around the 'hood, the infestation having completely slipped my mind.  After a very satisfying ride I get home and pull out my keys.  As I pulled the keys out of the mesh pocket on the side of my back pack I felt something mushy.  Something akin to a banana.  I thought to myself, "I don't remember putting a banana in my back pack".

I didn't put a banana in my back pack.  It was a cricket...literally "was".  It would seem that in grabbing my keys I also grabbed a stow away cricket and crushed it in my hands...I had the remnants of a cricket and whatever it's filled with ON MY HANDS!

I totally queened out, screamed, ran inside, washed my hands, washed my keys, and almost threw up.

I had to clean cricket remains out of the mesh pocket on the side of my back pack...do you know how hard that is?

I think I have PTSD now.  I may never recover.  You can now proceed to feel sorry for me.

Thank you.