Thou Shalt Not Pick Thy Scabs. Or Double Dip.

For those who don't know (I honestly have no clue how that could be, I've talked about it nonstop before, during, and since), I had laparoscopic abdominal surgery last month. My stomach looks like someone stabbed me several times with an ice pick. Anyway, we were watching TV and I came back from the bathroom and said, "Yay! The last scab finally came off! It's kinda gross, though."
Jay: What do you mean, it's gross?
Me: Well, I don't know if it was really ready to fall off like the others 'cuz it's bleeding a little and looks all green and gooey under there.
Jay: Did it actually FALL off or did you PICK it off?
Me: Ummmm......maybe I picked it off a little.
Jay: You are such a child.
Me: Well, the others all already fell off. Why the hell wouldn't this one? Why should I have to walk around with this stupid gross hard ugly scab right in the middle of my stomach?
Jay: Maybe so it could heal and all your guts don't fall out?
Me: Do you really think that'll happen?
Jay: Probably. Especially now that you picked the scab off. That's why God invented scabs. To test little kids. Good little kids behave and leave them alone to heal. Bad little kids mess with them and all their guts fall out and they die.
Me: You're not funny and someday I might die before you and you'll be sad that you said that.
Jay: I would LOVE to test that theory.

I got up to get a drink and as usual I was guzzling out of the milk carton and he yelled, "Uh uh!!!!! That's gross! Get a fucking glass!"

I said, "That's just silly. We're all family. You have certainly shared plenty of spit with me in the past 20 years. You don't drink milk anyway so what do you care?"

He said, "Just because you come from a family where everyone shares everything and everyone eats off the same fork and drinks from the same cup doesn't mean I have to."

I was already regretting drinking out of the jug because the dried up flakes of milk under the cap were disgusting and I was trying not to gag, but I had to save face so I changed the conversation really fast. "Speaking of sharing everything..."

He heavy sighed and said, "What'd you do?"

Me: I'm not 100% sure, but I think maaaaaaaybe I was filling the icky bones for the dogs with peanut butter, and even though I got two separate butter knives so that I had one for each bone so I wouldn't double dip in the peanut butter, I think I still stuck the knife in the jar twice.
Jay: That's gross.
Me: And I think I did it twice, like a double dip for each icky bone. Like I did it once and was all, "Shit!" and then I did the other icky bone and was like, "Shit! Shit! I just did it again! Shit!"
Jay: I don't eat peanut butter anyway. Does it even matter, though? There's already crumbs in the butter and you're drinking out of the milk jug and now there's dog spit in the peanut butter. Whatever. I guess just don't tell anyone.
Me: Mum's the word. Are you hungry?
Jay: What are you fixing?
Me: PB&J with a glass of milk?
Jay: Kiss off.