Dear Michael Jordan,
Please be advised that I have within my possession an item that may or may not contain enough of your DNA to clone you. I suggest that you come take it away, because otherwise it may never leave the house.
Back in his wild and carefree teenage years, Spousal Unit's first job was as a country club caddy, and one glorious day, he got to caddy not for you, but for your assistant. You spent several hours gallivanting across the course, whacking some balls and talking about others (of the basket/base persuasion, I'd imagine) while Spousal Unit washed your balls.
He was thrilled, and understandably bragged about it to all his family members upon coming home. (This would have been more impressive to his brother, I imagine, if it hadn't also been his birthday.)
But back to that DNA sample, from which we might be able to engineer a better baseball player. No, Spousal Unit did not surreptitiously sneak the band aid off your finger - that would have been particularly gross and more than a little creepy. But at the end of the course, you gave him your nearly empty Gatorade bottle to throw away.
|It's the quenchiest! (Source)|
Yes, Spousal Unit kept your backwash-filled Gatorade bottle. He didn't even dump out the liquid (which looks like a biohazard even before adding spit to the mix). And he has kept it for fifteen years. For ten years, I've had to either look at or simply be in the presence of this filthy old bottle contaminated by your lip gunk and sweaty palms.
After the most recent move, I "forgot" to remove it from our battered old car, and it remains on the floor of the back seat along with a frisbee, an ice scraper, and various coinage and dirt. (I considered including a picture, but I don't even want to look at it to aim the camera properly.) However, with an infant soon be added to that mix, I worry that this old bottle will contaminate my child with its fifteen-year-old bacteria just by its mere presence on our property.
I don't blame you in the least for Spousal Unit keeping it, but there remains the fact that despite my repeated begging and disgusted requests, he will neither relinquish it nor dispose of its contents. I'm of the opinion that he's unlikely to do either unless prompted by your holy self. Please have delivered some worthy replacement item that I can at least surreptitiously wash when he's not looking.
Not a germophobe but just rather grossed out,