My first post gave you the general info on me, but here are a couple more random facts that some incredibly bored person might find interesting:
I have a genuine fear of Mr. Bubble.
Yes, the pink bubble guy on the bubble bath bottle. It all started one day as a child in the tub. There was the bottle propped up against the wall and me bathing gleefully and innocently and then it happened! Mr. Bubble’s eyes moved! Now it was probably one of those cases where you catch something out of the corner of your eye and you think you see movement but there really wasn’t. But I’ve been unable to look at Mr. Bubble ever since without getting seriously freaked out. Let’s think about it though. Mr. Bubble is just unnatural. What’s he made out of – bubbles! That’s not right. I mean the Michelin man I can see – he’s made out of inner tubes or something right? The Stay Puft Marshmallow man is made out of marshmallows, those types of things you can deal with – but Mr. Bubble? He can only survive in the water. Imagine taking a lovely bubble bath and then watching in horror as the bubbles converge around you and Mr. Bubble’s face pops up and says hello from between your nether regions. I could sell that script to the makers of Saw and it would be the next best selling horror movie. The only thing that saves me is that most places don’t sell Mr. Bubble anymore and if they do I have to send the hubby down the aisle for the kids’ Elmo bubble bath.
Not unlike Larry the Cable Guy’s sister, I’m covered in moles. It’s a sad consequence of genetics. I was doomed from birth really since both sides of my family have moles, though I think I got most of them from my mother’s side. So I take a trip to the dermatologist annually where he slices and dices me like a Thanksgiving turkey, usually removing at least 3 “suspicious” lesions which always come back as OK from the lab. The best thing about my skin affliction though is my “constellation moles”; lovely groupings of brown orbs that, with the proper amount of imagination, form the outlines of varied objects. For example, I have a highly accurate rendering of the little dipper on my neck. It never fails that when I hold a small child, especially one just learning to count, that they inevitably trace that lovely line with their little fingers and count aloud 1. . . 2 . . . 3 . . . . 4 . . . “you have spots in a line!” To which I always reply, “yes sweetheart I do, maybe this summer you can see the ones on my thigh that are in the shape of a tub of cottage cheese”.