On Tonday (because while it was Tuesday, it felt like a typical work week Monday), I was doing my best to complete a lengthy start of care without touching anything. I knew there were bedbugs in the home I was in, and I was convinced that if I touched anything, I would be bringing something more than my laptop home with me. If this house, lifted straight off an episode of Hoarders, had only bedbugs as non-human inhabitants, I'd be surprised.
Electing to sit on a plastic chair, and nose to the grind stone, I was plowing through the paperwork as fast as humanly possible, when I became aware of something crawling down my arm. Trying hard not to show distaste, disgust, loss of control or screeching like a little girl who has seen her first mouse, I surreptitiously tried to smack whatever it was until I killed the damned thing.
It was an errant bra strap that had mysteriously come undone.