I am an odd, paradoxical combination of uber-prissy girly girl and up-to-my-elbows-in-blood-and-guts doctor. Since you might be snacking right now, I'll spare you stories of gore today. Instead I'll fess up to my prissy side. Here goes.
Nick and I have a big ol' yard around our awesome house, and I want it packed with flowers. I therefore took a free afternoon in April to get down and dirty with my flowerbeds. Spade, check. Gloves, check. Petunias, check. On the outside, I'm all confidence. Fake it 'til you make it. But on the inside, even as I plop onto
the ground, I have a very real, very petrifying fear.
Worms.
Ick, ick, ick. Ick, ick, ick again. I hate them. Ick, ick, ick. I think it has something to do with the lack of eyes, arms, or really any appendage of any sort. Last year Nick teased me to no end because I screamed (high-pitched, slasher movie style) every time I scooped out dirt and unearthed a wriggly, slimy little booger. No joke. Every time, and there's a LOT of worms in Tennessee. And if I should unwittingly sever one to create two wriggling worm-halves, the scream would be accompanied by me catapulting from the ground into a crazed jumping, writhing dance that looks ironically like the creature that inspired my terrorized frolic.
But this year I was determined to be brave. If I saw a worm, I simply whimpered and averted my eyes from the hole in the ground, giving him a chance to crawl back into his underground haven. I only screamed once. Now that's progress. But still, I think I'll stick to blood and bodily fluids. And maybe potted plants.
Nick and I have a big ol' yard around our awesome house, and I want it packed with flowers. I therefore took a free afternoon in April to get down and dirty with my flowerbeds. Spade, check. Gloves, check. Petunias, check. On the outside, I'm all confidence. Fake it 'til you make it. But on the inside, even as I plop onto
the ground, I have a very real, very petrifying fear.Worms.
Ick, ick, ick. Ick, ick, ick again. I hate them. Ick, ick, ick. I think it has something to do with the lack of eyes, arms, or really any appendage of any sort. Last year Nick teased me to no end because I screamed (high-pitched, slasher movie style) every time I scooped out dirt and unearthed a wriggly, slimy little booger. No joke. Every time, and there's a LOT of worms in Tennessee. And if I should unwittingly sever one to create two wriggling worm-halves, the scream would be accompanied by me catapulting from the ground into a crazed jumping, writhing dance that looks ironically like the creature that inspired my terrorized frolic.
But this year I was determined to be brave. If I saw a worm, I simply whimpered and averted my eyes from the hole in the ground, giving him a chance to crawl back into his underground haven. I only screamed once. Now that's progress. But still, I think I'll stick to blood and bodily fluids. And maybe potted plants.
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