...AKA a box of Timbits. I'm not supposed to eat Timbits. They're full of gluten and sugar and everything that can push me to edge of a sugar coma.
But when they're on a table, right in front of a gal? And when you haven't had a snack? And when you're in the middle of a rehearsal and stressed? That's when you reach into the Timbits box. Where other people, with other fingers have felt up the Timbits.
I had one. Okay, maybe I had two... Okay, I had three. Which really? Isn't even as many calories as a full-on donut. But it does mean that I stuck my hand in the Communal Germ Box three times instead of one. It also means that the next day is when my sore throat started. And my mouth started feeling a little pasty and the blocked nostril thing began.
Basically, I was being punished for eating the gluten and the sugar by the Gods of Reminding Me to Eat Well. The Gods said "HA-HA! You think that you won't be screwed over for three little Timbits eh? Now we will concentrate all the viruses that have come into even indirect contact with every hand that has reached into this box and you Heather shall feel their winter-cold effects."
But for those 5 seconds at a time that those Timbits were making love to my mouth? Totally worth it.