5 Everyday Ways You Repulse And Disgust Yourself
The world is mostly filth. Being human is mostly about navigating the grossness and keeping it away. We're the ones who wash our hands in public restrooms, dammit! But every once in a while, you get a stark reminder that you are in fact a disgusting organism. I'm talking about ...
Realizing How Badly You Neglected Cleaning A Certain Spot
A clean home is how you signal to the world that you have your act together. No matter how much of a catastrophe the rest of your life is, you can stand in the middle of a freshly scrubbed living space and say, "I have this all under control." Until, that is, you peer below your refrigerator. Or behind your refrigerator. Or on top of your refrigerator. Or under the vegetable drawers of your refrigerator. There, you and probably an audience of your partner, landlord, and parents will behold a layer of gut-wrenching filth. It will suddenly be clear to all that you are a worthless garbage person who does not deserve love.
Your home is full of spots like that. The underside of my stove would convince any sane person that my preferred method of cooking food is to drop it on the floor and kick it down there for the ants to eat. The shit there was like Guy Fieri's prefrontal cortex, just a nightmare landscape of grease, the ghosts of dinner's past, and mummified baby carrots. There are shattered remnants of a colony of spaghetti noodles and a Jackson Pollack wet dream of spatters, splatters, and spooge in every muted color of the rainbow.
To make myself feel better, I actually Googled how often people clean under the stove and behind the fridge, and didn't really get much of an answer beyond other people also wondering. This probably indicates that most people do not clean there often. Like losing your virginity, it's a very special occasion that either happens once or never. Realistically, what you're looking at down there is the culmination of literal years of spills and mishaps that seemed like no big deal at the time. Who gives a shit if one little Rotini rotins its way into the crack between the counter and the stove?
But when you're faced with several years' worth of your coagulated shrugs and poor reflexes in one place at one time, it really makes you think maybe you're half forest goblin and have no place in human society.
Making Sudden, Unexpected Contact With Your Own Sweat
You awaken in the middle of a sweltering night to take a leak. You return, hop into bed, and are immediately ensconced in the most repugnant sensation a person can inflict on themselves: sweaty sheets that had been left to cool in the open air.
Sweat isn't like other waste products. We're mostly OK with this one trickling down our face. It even feels great at times! You're at the gym, feeling all ripped and toned and good about yourself. Then you go to peel your shirt off and something goes cockeyed and that sweat-soaked tarpaulin is grasping your face like a horny, sleeveless octopus, and you have no idea how to get out. For a brief moment, desperately trapped in your own cold, clammy, sticky shirt, you know exactly what it feels like to be your own taint.
In one second, the sweat went from a symbol of your hard work to a disgusting reminder that you are nothing but a bag containing nauseating liquids. You but are an engine that runs on goop which no one ever wants to touch.
Having To Lie To Healthcare Professionals About Your Habits
I lie to my dentist each and every time I visit them. Oh yeah, I brush thrice a day and floss, you bet. Bitch, I never use floss. That's a wedgie for your teeth, and I'm not into bullying my gums. And generally speaking, I brush my teeth twice a day, unless I don't. And I drink pop. And sometimes I open cans of tuna by biting them. None of this can be admitted to the dentist or dental hygienist; the gap between how I live and how I know I should is too great. It is a canyon of shame.
I'm generally more forthcoming with my doctor, but when they ask some more general health questions, you better believe I don't mention how often I eat Taco Bell, or how on some days, the most physical activity I get is going to get that Taco Bell. If my doctor says my blood pressure is elevated, I'm not mentioning how I melted cheese to put on a different kind of cheese. If my urine comes back from a test as being equal parts Pepsi and schnapps, I have to assume it's a glitch and not my Pepsi and Schnapps diet.
All of these bad decisions made sense in the moment, especially when we consider the much worse things we could have been doing. But then this smug person in a lab coat pulls up a test result that's like scorecard, and suddenly it all becomes clear: Your habits are just barely distinguishable from those of someone who is actively trying to die. You suddenly feel enraged at that past version of yourself, the selfish bastard who set you up for this embarrassment. This rage will not even subside when you stop at a drive-thru on the way home.
Accidentally Using A Dish You Didn't Clean
This utter disaster can happen in one of two ways. If you wash your dishes by hand, maybe you didn't quite get to the bottom of that narrow glass, or maybe you didn't quite pay attention when scrubbing that bowl, or maybe (worst of all) you screwed up and skipped a step and put a dry, dirty dish or utensil in with the clean ones.
If you're fancy and have a dishwasher, this scenario is actually more likely. You get lazy and cocky, not realizing that your luxurious machine is even more slapdash than you are. Dried milk remains stuck in crevasses. Old egg is still stuck to the spatula. If you forget to clean the dishwasher's filter, it will assemble a small army of rice grains, pepper flakes, poppy seeds, and soggy biomatter, which it will then rocket right into one of your cups and heat-seal it in, like a xenomorph affixing a space marine to a wall.
One way or another, I know that I won't notice until after I've plucked a glass out, filled it with milk, and drank it right down to the bottom ... and only then become terrifyingly aware of the grunge. Looking down at the detritus skid mark that vanished down the side into the remaining liquid I had yet to swallow, I appreciate just how much of that substance I had probably already swallowed, and how much more was currently wading around next to my tongue. What was all that matter? How had I let it take up space in my home without paying rent? Why was I just now becoming acquainted with it, after it was literally deep, deep inside of me?
At the point you realize you've swallowed what amounts to dumpster sprinkles, there's nothing you can do. You can't legitimately expect to heave it all back up again. It's particulate matter, it's the ghost of shit you ate for the past two or three days. It's the physical manifestation of a fart at this point, possessing your insides with insidious abandon. There is naught to do but lament how you let this happen to yourself. Because it is all on you. Your laziness, ignorance, forgetfulness. Whatever it was, you made the scum, you didn't clean the scum, you just became one with the scum.
Trying To Take Nude Selfies That Don't Look Like Cronenberg Horror
We all have bad angles when it comes to pictures. Someone's about to take a pic of the group having fun at a party, then you look and see that somehow your left eye was about an inch up and to the right, your jaw is slack, and you maybe had syrup on your chin, making you look like some kind of Waffle House Quasimodo. Maybe that's even your driver's license photo.
This is only compounded when you're not trying to just hide a double chin or that parasitic twin that keeps blinking when the flash goes off, but showing off your sexy bits to someone you obviously have a sexy interest in. The last thing you want to do is show your butthole to a friend and have them wonder why you're sending production stills of the Sarlacc.
I would love to know how many attempts the average person makes at their first nude selfie. Even if it's not intended for someone else, but your own private collection, there's a horrible realization upon seeing that first snap. You've likely seen thousands of nude photos of strangers in your life, and none of them looked like this. Even porn that's specifically about ugly people doesn't look like this.
At some point, you realize that no filter is going to help you, because this is what you are. You can only hope that whoever sees this picture is willing to love a monster.
Avoid that nasty sweat on your sheets with a new set of bamboo sheets, by Zen Bamboo.
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