Gooey things that go squish

April 12, 2007

About a week ago I was washing dishes in our sink, as I do every day. Since there is no running water in the house, I often fill the sink with water and allow the dirty dishes to soak before rinsing them in clean water. Considering that this is the dry season – which consists of nine months of drought – it is one of the many ways in which we try to conserve water here. Anyway, I was washing the dishes and as I fumbled about for the last piece of silverware hidden beneath the soapy water, I grabbed the sponge and squeezed. Only it wasn’t the sponge. It was a mouse that had fallen into the sink during the night and had drowned in the lake of dishes. The giant, poisonous centipedes and flying cockroaches instill no fear in me, yet for the first time since I’ve been here, I yelled loud and pranced around in horror animatedly enough to give my roommate, who is not accustomed to hearing me scream, a semi-heart attack.

In the ongoing saga of squeamish catastrophes, I found myself once again in the uncharted territory of fright along the way to the kitchen. It was a dry, arid day and I ran into the kitchen dreaming of apple juice. In the informal fashion of the stereotypical bachelor, I bent down, unscrewed the lid and took a giant swig of sweet goodness. But there was a soft, chewy substance to it in my mouth. I looked down into the bottle, and an array of moldy green clumps bobbed along the surface of the past-due amber liquid. Calmly, collectively, I set down the bottle, slammed my hand in agony against the concrete floor about five times, and bolted to the bucket where we keep scraps for the pig, spewing out the vile contents of my mouth. I have brushed my teeth a record four times today and after this and the dead mouse incident, I am seriously considering signing up for Fear Factor upon my return to the States.