Last night I went to Cracker Barrel and ate way too much. I always go into a restaurant thinking, “Ok, I’ll be good…” It never works out though. So a chicken fried chicken dinner later, I was stuffed and felt no guilt.

But that’s not my dirty little secret.

As I was changing from my work clothes to my comfortable sweats and t-shirt, I thought, “huh, these work pants have never seen a washing machine.” See, I’m paranoid. I get the feeling that the minute I wash clothes and they get out of the washer they’re going to shrink. And then I’ll feel fat. Mentally I can’t handle that. So instead I just Febreeze them, over and over and over again. It’s disgusting I know, but for my sanity that’s the way it has to be.

But I wouldn’t say that’s my dirtiest secret.

This is my dirtiest secret. I eat food off of the floor. A couple of nights ago, Brian accidentally flipped some french fries off his plate onto the floor. Well, he thought that was the end of that. Oh no, that’s wasteful! So I picked them up and ate them. I had to fight the dog for one of them. Ok, that’s a lie, but it was a race between the dog and I who could get the most the fastest. I, of course, won. I think I’m the opposite of a germaphobe. I did lick an outdoor Arby’s table once. Yummm…Arby’s table.

Also, I don’t like chocolate ice cream. But that’s not really a secret, but I thought you should know anyway.