Rolling Stones

A can of worms. A proverbial can of worms. Any way you slice them they are worms.

Wiggly, squiggly, never trust em', worms. 

Staring at us right in the face. How they even got in the can is a whole other story. Did they jump in? Walk? Politely knock on the door, ask if anyone was home, and move in when no one invited them? Worms. They may be staring at us, but really we can't possibly be staring back.

It was a can of worms that had been opened this week. Not due to anyones fault but maybe everyone around. Maybe mine. I'm not really sure. This can didn't necessarily have negative repercussions or anything of that sort. But you know, the kind that the second it is opened you get a little twinge in your stomach. Then later it becomes more of a sick feeling as more and more of the worms slither out. Making their way. Spreading the word. Or the rumors. Or however they want to interpret whatever it is that they are trying to do.

Worms. They are just gross when you think about it. Who would ever even want to do such a thing as "open a can of worms" anyway. I'd rather open a can of corn, or better yet, a can of macadamia nuts. I wouldn't mind them hopping out of a can. They seem like they would hop don't they? Probably bring the news a whole lot more gracefully then those worms could ever pull off anyhow.

Worms.

Just a girl. With a can of worms. Awaiting its outcome. Or better yet, telling her next secret to those damn macadamia nuts. They would really know how to do it up right.