Breaking The Mold

“They sure broke the mold with him.”

Indeed. He’s a one-of-a-kind, wildly unique individual’s individual. Just look at him. Out there on the sidewalk, struggling to breathe and having the type of coughing fit usually reserved for the restrained patients of echoey psyche wards. What did you think was going to happen? The mold had been there for a while, not bothering anyone or anything. It was up in the corner of the bathroom ceiling, mostly keeping to itself, avoiding contact of any kind. 

Then you had to go and break it. Why did you do such a thing? Would you walk into a French chalet, in earshot of barons of counts, and do that to a slab of especially pungent cheese? I'd like to see you try. 

It was part of the cleaning process. That’s what they always say. I went hiking last week – don’t laugh – and in the forest there were plenty of mushroom covered tree stumps and big boulders blanketed by thick green moss. Moss that looks delicious enough to eat, but not filling enough to serve as an entire meal. It’s a garnish then, which is fine. Not every actor has to be the star and not every edible thing must be on centerplate. Some courses aren’t meant to be main ones.

This is all to say that I didn’t scrape away any moss as a living souvenir of my midday amble. I left it right where I found it. It's in the air now and there's noting we can do about it. 

 

But you couldn’t resist the urge to break the mold. And to do it while he was showering? What did you think was going to happen? He’d not breathe it in deeply, sucking wind, water and of course, those pesky little spores.  

Now that you have a cleaner, pristiner bathroom, what’s next? Surely the critters living in your subterranean dwelling want are in need of some tough love. 

Breaking the mold has its consequences. But it wasn’t broken until you broke it.