grody to the max

When I was a kid we used to say 'grody to the max' all the time. If you've never heard this saying before then you are young and unschooled in the art of publicly claiming something to be disgusting.

It's sad for you, but what are ya gonna do?

In all honesty, I thought it was 'grody to the Mac's' but I think that was because I had candy on the brain all the time.

Every Saturday my mum would give us $1 and send us to the down Mac's. There was an up Mac's and a down Mac's. The down Mac's was at the bottom of a monstrous hill and I think her reasoning for sending us to this Mac's was to work off the sugar by the time we got home.

Whatever her reasoning, it doesn't matter. Candy is its name and ingestion was its game. We could buy a bag of chips, a small Froster and a candy for a buck.

Ahhhh, the good ol' days.

Bite me, I'm not that old.

This is totally not what I came here to discuss today. It was the grody part of the title that prompted this trip to bloggerdom, not the Mac's part.

Good heavens, what is the matter with me?

You know what grosses me out? Bulk Cheezies. Can you even imagine going to Superstore and buying bulk Cheezies? Why would anyone do that?

Wait a minute, I buy bulk peanuts for baking. Oh mercy, I'm starting to shake and rock........

Blowing my nose also grosses me out. I can't hack it. I won't tell you the story about when I was at church a couple of weeks ago and had to blow my nose and how somehow what came out of my nose ended up in my hair. I'll save you the grody details of that gag inducing adventure.

Cutting fingernails and/or toenails also invokes a vomit-like reaction in me and when I was pregnant the man had to cut everyone's nails for me, on the front stoop, in the dead of winter, to save me the time dry heaving incurs. He even keeps clippers on his keychain and cuts his claws at work so I don't have to hear him trying to saw through his unguis.

That's a new word for me. Unguis. Like it? Kind of gross, no?

Don't clean your nails in front of me either. It makes me nauseous. The kind of nauseous that only a burger from Five Guys can cure.

Fat, hairy men who walk around their neighbourhoods without their tops on is also seriously gross. Why don't the women who love these men tell them that as a group we got together thousands of years ago and voted that men are sexier with their clothes on?

Remember that? That was good day. I think that was the same day we decided that baseball hats and decent cologne should be mandatory.

The man has this one cologne that....... mm mm mm.

Picking scabs. This genetic mishap has been passed down from the man to my children and when I see it happening I begin to envision packing a bag and moving out. After a good old fashioned upchuck.

Popping zits on anyone but myself is just not going to happen. The man insisted I do it to him once when he had small mountain growing on his back. I refused and he didn't speak to me for a whole day.

This was unfair, I declare. I have my limits. He should recognize that. AmIright?

Dogs that eat their own poop. Honestly. No wonder they're called man's best friend.

This is pretty gross.


Watching people barf is gross too. Gross to the point that others feel the need to join in creating what we lovingly refer to as the 'barfarama'.

When I was kid we had a 15 seater van. It was Indian Red. I learned how to drive in that beast. We had a couple of foster kids and we went to visit my nana's house. There were 7 of us kids. As we were climbing in the van my brother decided it would be funny to spit on the window and smear it around which is just gross in and of itself. One of my beloved foster brothers barfed. And then the other one did. And one by one all the children took their place in the barfarama. My mum lost it. Who could blame her.

Poor woman.

My stomach is a tad unsettled. I'm pretty sure it was unsettled before I sat here today but now I'm not so sure..........

What do you think is grody to the max? Besides this post.......