So I might as well tell you now – because, Lord knows, you guys will find out soon enough – that I have a lot of quirks.

A lot.

Like, for instance, I’m a gum addict who chews at least two pieces at a time.  At least.  I’ve cut back from my pack-a-day habit, but I could still easily fritter away hours a day contentedly gnawing, like a golden retriever, on a massive wad of gum until I have sucked every last flavor crystal out of it.  And I’ll even mix flavors, too.

Peppermint and bubblegum?  I ain’t skerred.

Anyhoo, somewhere near the top of my long, long list of neurotic quirks are sponges.

More specifically, gross sponges.

I think it has to do with being somewhat of a germophobe, but I have what can only be described as a “thing” about them.  So much so that I even listed it in my “Who the heck is Erin?” section off to the right of this post.

Seriously, take a look.  I’ll wait…

See?  It’s right there.  And why?  Because it’s something I feel you should know about me before we go any further in this relationship.

And it’s sponges specifically — I don’t even mind germs in most other forms really.  But, for some reason, if there’s a two-day-old sponge lurking around that smells even slightly funky, game over.

And what is that old sponge smell anyway?  It’s like a combination of mildew, wet dog and the inside of an old Civil War trunk all in one.  I guarantee you we eat nothing in our house that might ever potentially produce that smell.  So where does it magically come from?

Ok, I feel you’ve been appropriately briefed on my deep-seated sponge issues.   Moving on…

So, ladies and gentlemen, imagine my complete and utter horror when I innocently stop by the office breakroom to wash a coffee cup and come face-to-face with…

THIS.

What IS that??

Going against every natural instinct for self-preservation, I chance a closer look.

I know it’s blurry.  But I wasn’t sticking around for a second shot.

I immediately whip my palms to my face in self-defense, shut my eyes tight and turn my head away with my mouth frozen in a silent scream like you see every female victim do in Hitchcock movies.

Do people in the office actually use this?  And how, in this modern-day era of advanced health awareness and disease prevention, is this moldy, bacteria-infested zombie-sponge acceptable??

This will haunt every fiber of my being for a long, long time.

Oh, and then I saw a ghost.

The end.

(Phew!  I hope I didn’t scare you guys too much…)