Just plain water for me, thanks.

I dragged my sorry self to the gym this morning for a quick, and I mean quick, workout. 45 minutes is better than 2 tuxedo cupcakes with extra chocolate chips and a side of Regis and Kelly. I was stuffing my overloaded, poor quality freebie gym bag into the locker and knocked all my essentials off the bench, towards the floor. The gym locker room floor. The same locker room of toothbrush fame.

Being the crazy OCD woman I am, I leaped across the bench, coming just this close to knocking into the taut mama next me, trying to retrieve my precious essentials before they made contact with the floor. That floor. And if you must know, my essentials include an MP3 player, little towel, water bottle, and Chapstick. Is this news to you that I am addicted to lip balm? Because I am. It's stashed all over the place lest I go without. Shudder at the thought.

So now all the gym ladies are looking at me like I am auditioning for the part of crazy lady #1 in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Redux. They are thinking that things falling onto a floor are perfectly fine, perhaps just a skip away from dandy in fact. All on eyes on me to see what the heck is so precious. The way I see it, all things that come into contact with my person are precious.

I knew better.

Lady Luck was scattering her dust elsewhere this morning. All my stuff rolled onto the floor. Now I know how the kid with the damn meatball must have felt. In the midst of my panting from sheer heroic efforts and total whacked out stress, I retrieved my stuff. The essentials. I wiped everything down with a wipe (baby wipes are a misnomer...the marketing opportunities are endless if Kimberly-Clark would just do away with the baby image on the packaging!). Yes, I keep a package of wipes in my gym bag (and my purse, tote bag, and glove compartment...oh, and the emergency bag in my trunk). Not green, I know. Someone give me a better alternative.

I digress, as I am known to do on occasion. Forgive me. Dirt really stresses me out.

Everything was fine. The essentials were no worse for the wear.

Except my water bottle. The essentialist of the essentials.

I picked it up and dropped it again as if it were coated in Dick Cheney's piss.

Only this was worse.

There was a solitary pube stuck to the little spout. You know, where my MOUTH would go! And yeah, it wasn't mine (not like that would have made a difference).

Now excuse me while I go dry heave in the corner.

The moral of the story is: when the given the choice between tuxedo cupcakes and exercise, choose the cupcakes.