With the good...

...always come the bad, and today was no exception.

Let's start with the good.

I made a trip to the library and was rewarded with eight items: three horror books, two movies, an audio book, Walden, and a book on hiking the Appalachian Trail. It was a good day. The older librarian was there today and we have had some lively discussions. Today was no exception.

I had just returned Talk to Her and told her about the silent film in the movie, which I still find fascinating. Some guy was standing there waiting to check out his books and listening to us talk about a tiny guy rolling around between two giant rosy-tipped breasts like a cat rolling in a field of catnip just before he spies the promised land -- that inverted V of fur that hides the pathway to pleasure and lust. I think we shocked him a little -- or rather I shocked him.

She asked me about Blue Collar Comedy Tour and how I liked it. I blushed a little for admitting to getting a big kick (and nearly wetting my pants during a couple of monologues) out of the low class humor that one friend of mine, who recently had surgery, enjoyed and was worried the doctor had removed some brain cells because he liked it so much. Although I seldom admit to enjoying such low brow, redneck, mentally challenged humor, I have to admit I still love the Three Stooges and Laurel and Hardy, not to mention Harold Lloyd. So sue me.

Then came the bad part of the day.

Ever talk to someone that made you feel like you needed to take a shower with a wire-bristled scrub brush and full strength Clorox? I did today.

It isn't like I haven't talked to them before; I have. And I have been irritated by their Uriah Heep hand wringing, Mr. Collins endless and tiresome apologies that never end and never say anything except to make you feel like you just stepped in a pile of rotting compost, but today was really over the top. The only thing that disgusts me worse than blind stupidity is someone who apologizes in such a way as to make it seem as though you are trampling them into the dirt while they look up at you and smile, begging you to do it again because they deserve to be treated that way for ever having offended someone as wonderful as you are.

Just thinking about it makes me feel the urgent need for another gallon of Clorox and that wire scrub brush. I feel like something slimy crawled across my skin.

Honestly, I'd rather someone slap me in the face than Uriah Heep and Mr. Collins me. Ick! Time for another bleach bath.