butts and cats

The other day I was reading a few threads on my phone while drinking coffee, and could not understand why one person was flipping out about a slug in their house and another was gagging because they saw someone trimming their toenails. Wondered why I was not bothered by these things, worried that maybe I was a revolting person. Got to work and discovered that someone had shit in the urinal. Again.

At home, the toddler climbed up on my lap while we were chatting about our days at work. When she hopped down, I realized that at some point she had taken off her diaper, because there were two round toddler buns printed in white oily butt cream across my black shirt. The kind that smells like fish oil, because it was on sale.

So maybe it's just a matter of content saturation, this not giving a damn about slugs and toenails.

I was considering these things when one of our regular library users wandered up to the desk. She had been wearing a boot on her broken foot for months, and it was gone. "The boot is gone!" we said helpfully, because she might not have known. She cringe-smiled and held up her hand. It was now in a cast. This is no good, because she is a piano player. We told her that, too. It turns out that what happened is this: she was playing piano for a holiday party at an Admiral's Club. As she was playing, there was a crash and a cat came falling out of the ceiling panels onto her head. It battened onto her hand with its teeth, and she ran screaming from the room, trying to flap it loose at the end of her arm. It broke her finger and ran like the devil. I went limp across the desk, laughing.

My job keeps me centered, folks.