Paula, you might want to stop reading here. I think this may be too much for you to handle. You might cry. For realz.


So, I laughed (internally) at a crazy person. I was nice to him in person when he asked me what “Oxford University Publishing” was when written in a book he was pretending to read (I know it was pretend because he napped on it a few minutes later). I told him it was a university in England, which was not a good enough answer because he repeated it and follow up with “what do they do?” Explaining that they printed books meant nothing. I could have said they ate babies and it wouldn’t have mattered. He just did not understand.

And now to the relevant part of this story:

This morning, Dave and I both had a glass of V8. We usually drink V8; this is not a new occurence in our lives. Dave finished his glass of V8 and left for the day for work. After he went on his way, I decided to pour a glass of the juice for me. I grabbed a rocks glass we use for real drinks. I had to; all the rest – all sixteen glasses – were in the dishwasher. We clearly don’t understand the meaning of “reuse” in this household.

Please note: there was nothing in the bottom of the glass. It was sparkling clean. Pristine, I would even say.

I returned to the office with juice in hand, sipping lightly. About fifteen minutes later, after completing a few work tasks, I needed to leave to make an appointment.  I took a quick, big sip of the juice, and suddenly, everything was WRONG. Wrong taste, wrong texture, wrong difference in juice-to-hard substance ratio. A ratio that typically should NOT occur when drinking juice. 

I quickly spit out what was in my mouth onto my desk: a hard, V8-encrusted CENTIPEDE. 


I cannot think about it without shuddering. The bug  – a truly ugly, disgusting bug that freaks me out when alive – was in my mouth. I could not spit enough over the sink. I still cannot deal with it completely. It was simply the grossest thing that has ever happened to me. Worse than peeing my pants in elementary school and being smelly all day. More personally mortifying than being hit in the head with a discus in middle school, the worst of a teenager’s years. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

Did I call Campbell’s? You bet your sweet little ass I did! And you know what? They promised to send me COUPONS to make up for it, as if I now want to go out and buy cases of V8 to ingest. Mmm…when can I find the next humungous bug in my juice?


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