I think it takes a lot to creep me out.  I used to get completely disgusted by worms.  Worms were slippery, writhing and wet.  And holy crap you could cut them in half and now there’s two.  There is really no need for that sort of mutant power.  Can you imagine if people could do that? The Highlander theme would have to change to: “There can be only two-ish”.  Worms are okay by me now, if for no other reason than to let me know that my dirt is good.

I don’t like slime.  I don’t like maggots (“Maggots, Michael. You’re eating maggots. How do they taste?”) or the smell of that one potato that rolled behind the garbage can a few weeks ago that I just found that’s making my gag reflex take complete control over my body. I don’t like other people’s boogers.  That is to say, I don’t like mine either, but at least they’re mine.  Oh, and other people’s, you know, insides coming out are gross, too. Unless they belong to my children then it’s still gross, but it’s mine to clean.

Of course, I don’t know a whole lot of people who go around saying: ” I LOVE boogers and maggots! Are you crazy? And diapers?? LOVE THEM! I’d change EVERYONE’S diapers if I could!” If you do know this person?  PLEASE let me meet them.

That all being said, my fish of all things, can be a little creepy.  We have a ninety gallon freshwater tank with some African cichlids, danios, a couple of catfish, an algae eater, and a few others with really fancy names.  They are pretty, fun to look at, and often at night when we put the kids down for bed, my husband and I turn off all the lights in the bedroom except for the tank, and we lay on the floor watching the fish for a bit until our joints get really stiff and then hilarity ensues as we try to help each other off the floor.

I usually feed the fish (my twins call them “sishies”) and lately I’ve noticed that whenever I move by the tank, they go all Borg and collectively move en masse towards me.  It never occurred to me that fish could be “trained” like this.  I mentioned it to my husband and he remarked that they know that the “dark shape” feeds them.   That is what I think creeps me out.  I didn’t think fish had brains.  I mean, I know they have  “brain” brains, but not cognitive awareness that whenever a dark shape walks by, that it’s time to eat. Plus they stare at me, like they are trying to figure me out.  I try to fake them out and move over to the other side quickly, but they are too smart for that, they go right with me.

I did have a frightening thought during my Cinco de Mayo beer margarita: what if my fish are the ones that go all Planet of the Apes on us? Should I be proud?  Maybe it’s the super yummy freeze-dried plankton we give them, or the blood worms and sea monkeys, er brine shrimp, they get occasionally.  It’s making them super smart and hyper aware, and I’m going to wake up and be tied to the ground like Gulliver one morning.  I’m scared, someone hold me.

If they are smarter than we think, I know right now they are in there saying: “Good Lord, our Feeder is wearing that weird Cookie Monster shirt again.  Doesn’t she know it’s about three sizes too big?  And those pants?  Yellow smiley face pants?  Hellooo? Can someone dress that thing?”

Great,  my fish are diabolical junior high school girls.

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