This morning was, of course, delightful as are most mornings after the first rain after the first snow. I took my dog down by the lakefront, which provides she and I with a solid half hour workout and a beautiful view.

The one thing that marred the occasion were the worms.

I think I developed my phobia of worms while I was in middle school, when Iowa was being hit with some particularly flooding rainstorms. The worms, finding their homes completely saturated rose to the surface, wriggling around in the fresh air, many of them finding their way onto the pavement.

Hundreds upon thousands of worms littered the sidewalks, streets, and playgrounds. You had to step lightly lest you slip on these soft tubes of flesh and shit. I didn't like it, but my disgust was further compounded by the kids on the playground, with stronger stomachs than I, who would pick these infernal things up and shove them in my face, to my obvious chagrin.

My realization that I had worm phobia (that's the scientific name, unfortunately) was solidified in my High School Sophomore Biology Class, during the dissection part; we had to dissect clams, fish, frogs, crayfish, and, the very first subject...worms.

I couldn't do it, though. I was in a group with two girls and I watched from a distance while they handled, sliced, and studied it's simple insides. I did fine with everything else, and probably had a bit too much fun with it, and I could describe many aspects of my dissection experience...with the exception of the worm. I barely even remember it being cut open.

So today, while walking, during the half hour walk I probably encountered about twenty worms. Twenty too many, if you ask me.