Helminthology -- The study of worms
To be completely precise, it's the study of parasitic worms but that's gross. So I'm going to ignore the whole parasitic bit and focus on the plain old study of worms. A study that I happen to be terribly familiar with because two years ago Opie bought me a Worm Factory Composting Bin for my birthday.
And, since I have a feeling that most of you have no idea WHAT a Worm Factory Composting Bin is, let me explain. It is a 1.5' x 1.5' x 3'' sized plastic bin that you load with damp shredded newspaper, kitchen trash, starter compost and 1,000 red worms.
No, that's not a typo, WE HAVE ONE THOUSAND RED WORMS living in our washroom....and considering the incredibly speedy way they reproduce and the fact that our bin has 4 more stackable expandable levels, it's entirely possible that we will have TWO THOUSAND RED WORMS by the end of next month.
And for those of you questioning the awesomeness of this worm abundance, I have one word. Compost, people, compost. And the environment....see, now instead of throwing away our kitchen trash and our old newspapers, we feed it all to the worms. Over time, they munch it all down and leave behind this amazingly rich, fertile compost that you can throw directly on your garden.
Yes, for those of you who don't remember basic high school biology and zoology, I'm talking about poop. Worm poop. I am sitting here, almost giddy with excitement over WORM POOP. I feel like I should be on that show "Strange Addictions" or "Intervention."
My name is Kimberly and I love me some worm poop.
Though, to be technical, we worm farmers prefer to call it "worm castings."
In any case, let me assure you that the worm farm has not completely eradicated my feelings about things that are slimy. I may love me some worm poop and I may have come up with endearing nicknames like "wormies" and I may spend a disturbing amount of time speculating on worm copulation, but this doesn't mean that I want to TOUCH the worms.
Because, you see, they're WORMS.
So, whenever it is time to tend the worms, I arm myself with elbow-length gloves and this little plastic trowel that I can use to stir the worms about. And on the rare occasion that one of the worms escapes or accidentally falls out or whatever, I go shrieking upstairs and demand that Opie take immediate action.
But that's the way it goes when you live with an helminthologist.