Crush and Burn

You know how in coffee shops, they have little plastic stirrers that just sort of sit out? And there’s no way possible to take one and only touch the ONE you’re taking? Well, I’m a bit germaphobic (I think living in NYC makes one become paranoid). What with the flu epidemic and subways and SO MANY OPPORTUNITIES to share germs here, the thought of those stirrers or any sort of communal “grab it” item makes me cringe. And let me tell you–I spend at least 3 days a week writing at a coffee shop.

Today, I was at one of my favorite coffee shops–it’s practically perfect in every way. Great food, strong coffee that most would compare to motor oil (YUM! Motor oil), cool vibe with decent art and fun bluegrass decor. And it’s close to my home. BUT (and this is a big but), they have the communal coffee stirrer jar. And today specifically, right before I got to the table where all the coffee fixins are, a man came out of the bathroom and as he reached for a stirrer, he must have touched every single stirrer in the jar. GROSS. And sure–it’s POSSIBLE he washed his hands. But it’s also totally possible that he either A) did the quick 2-second rinse sans soap or B) didn’t wash at all. And let me tell you, those hands looked BONE DRY. Not the sort of bone dry that a paper towel can achieve, either.

Urine Stirrers are their new name.

Soooo, without further ado….this installment of Crush and Burn.

This week’s CRUSH list includes:
1) Crock Pots. Because they totally make my husband think I’m a better cook than I am.
2) My giant 112lb dog, Red. Because he thinks he’s a lapdog and looks at me with his giant adorable droopy eyes.
3) Barbie Dolls. Because my niece thought I was a total rock star when she opened her (belated) Christmas gift.

This week’s BURN list includes:
1) Urine Stirrers. Because…I mean, c’mon. Gross.
2) Sick husbands. Because my office on work days is the couch. And      on sick days, that’s (understandably) where he wants to be. Nor does he (not understandably) want to watch Friends all day.
3) Sugar. Because as much as I love it, it finds its way onto my tongue, burrows into heart and forever stays on my thighs. DAMN YOU, SUGAR!