Les Bonnes Choses

Related to a recent post, it's been 5 days since I last wrote something, and I feel just awful about it. And I decided that this feeling might be symptomatic of some kind of personality disorder, namely, megalomania. I think the trigger may have been that traffic tracker widget. Before I added it, I had very little evidence that I was writing to amuse anyone but myself. I figured, at the very least, I could refer back to my blog should I ever want to write my memoirs. So one could argue that, before the widget, I suffered from low self-esteem if anything. But now that I see that, aside from the people befuddled by Kate McNamara's accent, the random perverts looking for pictures of geriatric porn, popped collars and Julius Caesar's murder, I do have a number of regular readers (some even subscribe!), I feel obliged to keep writing. After all, I can imagine my lonely reader from Antarctica sitting in the perpetual winter darkness, with only my witty writing to keep him/her sane...

See what I mean about delusions of grandeur? Still, it could be an interesting premise for a thriller, I suppose.

I'll just tack this unrelated thought on at the end because it doesn't really warrant its own blog entry, but every so often, I'll be in a men's room, and watch somebody just leave without washing their hands. I then have to figure out how to exit the washroom without transferring their pee-pee germs to my hands. Depending on the venue, I also may spend the rest of my evening looking over at some dude at a nearby table thinking "Unclean! Unclean!" Would a method of visibly marking such people be too draconian? I'm thinking maybe some kind of exploding dye pack. Or how's this for a really mortifying alternative:

Waiter: "Your drink, sir."
Mr. Nastyhands: "I didn't order a drink."
Waiter: "A gentleman at another table ordered it for 'the fellow in the yellow shirt who didn't wash his hands after using the toilet'."