For as long as I can remember, I've always had a very visceral reaction to all things wet and messy. The earliest memory I have of something like this happened when I was five years old. It was a hot summer day and I was with my family on a country drive. It was me, my little sister, my mother, my grandma, and my aunt. We came across a "Road Closed" sign and, for some reason, decided to drive around it. Sure enough, the next thing we knew, our car was stuck in deep mud. We were stranded in the middle of nowhere in rural Minnesota. This was long before the days of cell phones - one of us had to get out and walk for help! My grandma, being the tough ass broad that she was, decided she would be the one. She rolled up her pants, took off her sheer tan knee high stockings and got out of the car. I couldn't believe what she was going to do; that mud did look nasty to me. Off she went, walking through the muck. It took her forever to come back. I can't even recall how the situation resolved itself, because all I can remember is staring at her muddy legs and feet next to me in the car the whole ride home! Now, I know I wasn't turned on, because it was my grandma and I was a kid (hellooo?) but for some reason, I remember being so disgusted, but yet extremely interested at the same time. I just couldn't stop staring. I definitely thought about it a lot for a long time after that, but I didn't know why. I guarantee that no one else in the car even remembers that day, but it left an indelible mark on me.