We’ve been having quite a bit of rain around here lately. When I went out to the garage, I noticed a big fat worm struggling to survive in the dry garage. Why did you even crawl in here, worm? Don’t you know there’s no dirt and water in the garage? Well, ok, there’s a puddle over there, and now that I look around, I see that there is an awful lot of dirt in the garage. It must be time to clean and organize in here–but generally there’s no water or dirt in the garage. It’s not a hospitable environment for a worm. Darn, that worm is going to dry up and DIE in here, unless I help it out. Giving a little sigh of grossoutedness, I picked up the worm and tossed him as far as I could to safety. While he didn’t quite make it to the grass, he landed in a puddle on the driveway. I walked around the car feeling pretty good about myself. I’m a worm rescuer, after all. Oh, there’s another worm on this side of the garage. But he’s already dead, so there’s nothing I can do for him. But I did save that one worm, and for that I was feeling a little bit proud of myself.
I then proceeded to get into my car, back out into the driveway and pull out into the street, when I was struck with a horrible thought. More likely than not, I just drove over the exact puddle where I had throw the worm to “safety”. Um, sorry about that, worm.