I Just Don't Like It

I'm talking about feet. I just don't like them.

I don't want to be touched by feet, I don't want your feet touching me. The only thing that I find acceptable is someone else rubbing my feet. And let me tell you! It wasn't until I was 16 that I had my first pedicure and even allowed that. Now, that I have Lover, he is obligated to rub my feet at least twice a week!

Back to my point...

I just can't explain why I don't like them. Maybe it is the fact that almost every foot I have ever seen had some sort of "crust" on it and I don't want that "crust" to scratch me. Or it could be that feet are just ugly. Or maybe it's because they stink. OR because they sweat all grossly.

Regardless, Lover KNOWS I don't like feet. He KNOWS I don't want feet touching me. We have been sleeping in the same bed for over 6 months now, he KNOWS to keep his feet away! BUT, knowing Lover is to love Lover. I don't think he will EVER stop putting his feet on me to get a "reaction."

At first, I think he did it, because to "test" me. Maybe he thought I wasn't serious about not liking feet and he wanted to catch me off guard to see if I would still scream and snatch my feet away. I bet after a few months he believed that I truly didn't like feet, but THEN being a man, he wanted to "fix" me. You know? Make it so that I wouldn't dislike feet anymore.

So, he continued to put his feet on my ankle, my feet, my thigh, my calf, etc. in hopes that I would "grow out of it." Well, it's been almost 6 months and I haven't nor will I GROW out of not liking feet. And now, he is just irritating me with false promises that he will stop doing it on purpose, and lies that he "didn't mean to."

It's just plain irritating and I wish he would stop. But he wont. *sigh*

Cold Hearted. Warm Blooded.

Mice. My fucking workplace has mice! Technically, we only found one mouse, but those fuckers NEVER travel alone. What. The. Fuck! Someone needs to tell me what my damned rights are, because I don't do rodents! Reptiles, bugs, and rodents are a no fucking go for me.

I get to work this morning and head straight to the kitchen to put my lunch in the fridge. I look down and see one of the cockroach holder/sticky things. My office has these throughout the offices too, but they also spray for bugs and I have never seen any bugs. Other than that one instance we had with an angry hive of bees that wouldn't let us outside, so we had to call the Bee Man and it took him like an hour to kill those damned things and get the Queen.

Back to my story. I look down and see the cockroach stinky thing. I think hmm... that isn't suppose to be there. Until I see it. AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I take that back, I felt the vile things heinous tale hit the top of my pinky toe before I saw what it was. AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAA!!!!! Stuck. The fucker was stuck in the thing. Eww! Eww! Eww! I cried. My make up is ruined, my mascara is smeared on my face, making it appear that I was punched the night before, and I am no longer wearing the eyeliner I had on at 7:59 this morning.

I come to find out that this place has had a problem with mice/rodents/vile, disgusting creatures in the past. Luckily, 2 stray cats made there way over and we started feeding them for at least 5 or 6 years. Well, the cats died (they were run over) and the fucking mice are back. I want a cat! I will go pay to adopted one and have it inside (I won’t be satisfied with an outside cat) if I have to. I mean, I will do it the right way. I want a cat, I NEED a cat. I don't do mice.

A co-worker of mine (not Mrs. NHJ) doesn't like mice, but was sad that fucker was "suffering." Fuck that! I don't feel bad for the disease carrying infestation! At this point I am kind of happy that Mrs. NHJ is around, she is a bitch. More importantly, she is bitch that doesn't like mice/rodents. This means, that something is going to be done. Cause if the Bitch ain't happy, nobody is happy!