There are few things I hate more than dredging soggy cereal out of a bowl full of warm milk. These.
I hate cleaning out the drain in the kitchen sink. I hate it! It grosses me out, little bits of discolored former food, cheese that somehow melted onto the strainer, soggy pieces of gag-worthy edible rejects. UGH.
And, while we’re on the subject, that drain is rivaled only by the dogfood floaters in the water dish. I literally cannot even look at it. I have to lift it out of the water with a large spoon, which subsequently will have to be washed at 140 degrees inside the dishwasher. That is, after I’ve rinsed it under hot water. Because one does not simply attempt to wash that dumpling-sized nugget down the drain. Because it won’t go down, further intensifying the gag reflex (see above).
I hate the poop that sticks to the dogs’ fur. Or worse – when it’s still attached. If you don’t know what that means, I’m not explaining it today.
I hate dirty toilets. I never loved dirty diapers either, but poop back then was much smaller, and cuter. And wiping it off the cutest little bottom a mother has ever seen? Just fine. But – splattered, smeared, or stuck in or on the toilet – uh, no. Just NO. Every kid in this house has two hands and at least half the brain to clean up their own shit.
I hate dirty underwear and socks. I do the household laundry. It’s a choice. And I’m not so far gone that I need to wear gloves. However, I will only pick it up by 2 fingers, ready to drop it if it tries to bite me.
I hate moldy, rotting food in the refrigerator. Even when I know it’s bad, I will purposely put off throwing it out because I’m afraid to smell it or look at it, which of course means it will look and smell FAR worse when I finally do.
I hate eating off of others’ plates. I’m kinda throwing this last one in here because I was thinking about how you never know who's sick, or may have sneezed over their food, or just saliva.... I won’t even eat off of my own kids’ plates.