I'm red and white. I hope I don't turn blue...

I'm very, very clean. Perhaps clean unto death. We shall see.

Yesterday, I threw some things from my shower into the sink to soak in bleach water: my razor, my grater thingy for my heels, the shower scrubber and its plastic hook and my bath brush.

I thought I rinsed them well.

The bath brush lathered up rather bubblier than usual, but I didn't think too much on it. So, I scrubbed vigorously - neck to toes. I have a guilt complex that I try to exfoliate from my soul daily. It never works, but hey. I seemed to notice simultaneously that the soap smelled a bit industrial and some of my delicate $#!&! skin was stinging a bit.

Wait. I know that smell. It's bleach.

I just bleached myself people. Am I going to die?

That's a good plan. I hope there is a next time. I'm so smooth, I'm thinking it's only a matter of time before the bleach unknits my skincase. All my innards are probably going to spill out onto the neighbor's deck at the barbeque.

It's a neat trick, but I can only do it once.

Wish me luck and remember me fondly if it doesn't work out.

Yeah, yeah, I'm fine and clean as can be. And Haggis, I'm not blistered and contused, so you wouldn't care for pictures of my skin anyway.