Bachelorette grossness reaches a new low

This is very anti-feminism of me, and I may need to turn in my female membership card after this posting, but I must speak the truth - In the privacy of their own homes, single females are every bit as disgusting as single males.

I'm a cheapskate. I come by this genetically. I was talking with my grandmother this afternoon (under duress, I might add). Starting tomorrow, she is paying for some companionship come in a couple of times a week. This is not a euphemism for a male prostitute. The person is going to drive her places, read to her, listen to her stories, pretend like they don't want to kill her, etc. I would have been fine for the job until that last part. Anyway, Grandma is paying $20 an hour for this service, which happens to be through the company I work for. I think it's a great deal. Grandma was ticked that I never told her about the 44-cent surcharge per mile.

Thus, given my cheapness, if a dish doesn't look too dirty, I'll use it for dinner, and maybe the next morning's breakfast. Saves on the water bill and on the dishwashing liquid bill. Not like Washington's phosphate-free dishwashing soap cleans a plate better than water and my hand does.

I have to remind myself to not walk around my house in my underwear when the blinds are open. Hey, it's an easy thing to do! You live in your parents' basement long enough, you forget that there's a such a thing as "windows looking directly into your neighbor's windows."

If a girl farts in her living room and there's no one but her pets to hear it, did she really shamelessly expell herself of bodily gas?

I eat in bed. Crumbs don't bother me. Half the time, I can't tell if it's crumbs I'm sleeping on or stray cat litter that rode between my kitties' toes from the catbox to my sheets. If I'm missing one of my seven forks, I check my bed. Mom wasn't surprised that there was a fork in my bed - she was surprised that it took me two weeks to realize it was there.

Today, though, I reached a new level of disgustingness. I took a bath. (That's not the gross part.) As I'm drying myself off, I look out the bathroom door and across the hall into the scrapbooking room. My dog likes to use that room as his peepee room. It really did need a good mopping. I looked back to the bathtub, still full of gently-used water. I threw on my clothes and got my mop out of the garage.

Ten minutes later, I had cleaned my floor, saved on my water bill, and after seeing all the floor debris stuck to the ring of my tub, I decided I will never bathe again.