Getting The Plague

WARNING: Disgusting, gory details are contained in this blog.  Faint of heart and stomach should NOT read.

As I've gotten older, I have developed this odd little issue ...

I can't watch shows like Dr. Oz because I am relatively sure I have absolutely everything that he talks about that is bad and could kill.

I can't read WebMD because before it's all said and done, I've contracted every rare disease, pathogen, and tumor known to man.

Yeah, I've developed this little issue called hypochondria.

I never use to be like this.  In fact, I mocked (behind their backs, of course) people who were hypochondriacs.  In our family, the joke is that if you just mix up a bit of blue-green algae, all is well.

Okay, it's an inside joke, and it loses some of its punch airing it in public like this without knowing the back story.

Okay, it loses A LOT of its punch.

At any rate, last night, I was sitting at the dinner table, listening to the radio while I ate -- what every single person does who is trying to keep the television off and actual savor what she's eating, rather than scarfing it down like it's the last meal she'll ever consume thus setting up a very bad digestive situation -- heavy sigh ...

So, I was sitting at the dining room table, eating my dinner, slow-ish-ly, and John Tesh came on the radio.  I don't typically listen to this man for two reasons:

1.) He annoys me.
2.) He talks about medical conditions that I then feel I might have and well, then I spend the drive home or the evening in my living room or where ever I am imagining how someone will find me dead in my home with a missing face because my cats have eaten it off ...

You see where my mind goes?

Emmy would never eat my face off, mainly because she has become accustomed to a certain type of food that, quite frankly, costs more than my dinner.  I mean, my cat eats better than I do!

Also, I have made a pact with a friend that I will not get more than one cat ... thus, sealing my fate as a Crazy Cat Lady.  We're a one-cat household, Emmy and I are.

John Tesh begins talking about how those of us that were taught to hold our steering wheels at 10 and 2 have been taught incorrectly.  And he further contends that having been taught that can actually do us much harm if we were to ever be involved in a car accident, even a minor one.

He then cuts to a commercial which further annoys me because I am forced to listen to their stupidity while I worry over what horrors will befall me should I continue to hold my steering wheel at 10 and 2.

When he finally returns, he begins to tell his audience that when an air bag is released in a crash, it does so at such a high rate of speed that it can actually cause compound fractures of the hands, wrists, and arms as well as an injury referred to as degloving.  Oh it's as horrendous as it sounds, my dear readers.  Mr. Tesh proceeds to describe the process of the air bag actually peeling the skin away from your hands.

Well! That was it for me.  I had to turn the radio to a different channel, push my food away, and go wash the gory details of that story out of my mind's eye with a little white wine spritzer.

That was until I got into my truck today, and after traveling some miles, I realized, rather suddenly, that my hands were at 10 and 2.

To borrow an over-used pop culture colloquialism, I was all OMG! MY HANDS ARE AT 10 and 2!!!!!!  I COULD BE DEGLOVED!!!

You know, I am blaming this all on my parents.  When I was young, I tied up my sister in a friendly game of cops and robbers.  To shorten a long, boring story, she fell and came with in millimeters of getting her eye poked out.  For MONTHS after that little incident, I was made to read articles of kids that did stupid things which had deadly consequences.

Excuse me while I go and bathe myself in GermX, after which I will be coating my walls in protective bubble wrap...