communing with worms

Second day of RAIN.  Which means that it’s a little impossible to pull off the shoeless run . . .

Yesterday I pulled off my flip-flops and ran for Hughes for the Icthus Communion service . . . ran across the lawn and into the basement of Reasoner/Morrison, the closest door . . . and promptly wiped out on the linoleum.  Luckily only Buffy got the joy of hearing the eep, and no one actually saw the wipe out.  It was bad.  I have a severely sore thumb at this point . . . and bruises on my backside.  I have never laid on the floor of any campus building and laughed that hard in a long time.  Gotta love my life.

So why is the shoeless run not suggested today?  Shall we discuss worms?  On the second day of rain, the worms have escaped from their underground kingdoms and are populating our sidewalks with an abundance that rivals short boys at Asbury.  “Oh, Harold . . . I can’t swim . . . Harold, save me!!!”  “Wanda, shut up . . . glub glub . . . does it look like . . . glub glub . . . I’m any better off?” So unless you enjoy the squishing of worm family units . . . under your bare toes, no less, I wouldn’t suggest taking off your shoes.  They make a sickening squish under your heel and their worm parts will get mushed between your toes . . . and . . . yeah.  It’s gross.

Although it’s really worse the day after a rain, when the ground is dry and all the worms you accidentally step on have a sickening wet crunch to them . . .

Not that I would know . . .

I don’t pay attention to that sort of thing. 

Later . . . I’m off to get drowned while my feet and flip-flops commune with worms.

-Coral Rose

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