Grossness Double Standard

Everybody’s got a weakness. Some people faint at blood. Some gag at diapers. Me? I’m built like a crime scene janitor with a side hustle in biohazard removal. I can scrub shit out of car upholstery before breakfast, catch puke midair like I’m in the motherfucking MLB, and patch up a bloody knee without flinching. But the second you hand me a microfiber towel? I crumble. I fold faster than laundry I refuse to touch. It’s pathetic, and yet here we are.

1. Things I cannot tolerate under any circumstance:

• Microfiber towels - they feel like a war crime against my fingertips

• Chalkboards - instant brain itch, like my soul has tinnitus

• Really fine, tightly packed powders - the kind that’s almost like chalk and gives me the full-body uh-oh shivers

• Cotton balls (aka Satan’s lint balls) - keep that shit away from me
  

2. Things society agrees are disgusting but I can handle like a champ:

• Diapers. Blowouts. Literal shit storms.

• Kid puke, dog puke—no hesitation, pass the paper towels.

• Blood. Not even phased.

• Whatever unholy sludge a toddler manages to create in a single snack session.

The one bodily fluid that actually breaks me? Saliva. Don’t spit near me, don’t drool on me, and for the love of nausea, don’t chew up food and try to show me. That’s my ick, that’s my villain origin story.

So yeah—vomit, blood, diarrhea? I’m your girl. But cotton balls? Textured torture. Microfiber? Straight to hell. I’m basically a walking contradiction: unshakable in the face of human waste, but one chalkboard squeak away from a mental breakdown. Call me Auntie Kate: professional diaper ninja, amateur puke wrangler, and certified coward in the cleaning aisle.