Press-N-Seal, Garbage Disposers and other crap!

I have something I really want to get off my over-developed chest...I am still a little afraid of my garbage disposer. Now, I have to admit, I have tried to explore these feeling, trying to get to know the damn thing a little better, in the hopes of easing some of my fears, but I just can't get past the feeling that if I put my fingers anywhere near it- they will be devoured. And then how am I going to explain that to the little pretty Asian ladies that already have one nickname for me. I swear, whenever I arrive, I can hear them say to each other, "Here come fattoe. After my disposal accident, "Here come fingerless-fattoe! Seriously, I have actually put my hand inside the disposer to check it out. It was a lot like putting your hand inside the raw turkey at Thanksgiving, you just don't wanna be there. It feels very invasive, somewhat like I am sure it must feel to your GYN doc when they take a peek and then stifle their gasp and tentatively reach inside- yeah, just shouldn't be there. But here is the deal, you have to face these fears head-on. If you don't and that disposer senses any fear at all... Yeah, next thing you know, you will be up to your elbows, trying to remove a little twisty that somehow got lodged in the darn thing- creating chaos! Once I have managed to concur the disposer, I move on to my next task at hand. Gotta wrap the left overs up. Well, well, well. Enter the Press-N-Seal. OK. How many of you use this stuff? It is almost gross- I mean just when you think you have figured out which side is the sticky side, you start to second guess yourself. Why can't they just print, "This side up" on the right side? I start wrapping my food up and then I realize, "wait, that is not the sticky side, this is." But by now my fabulous left over BBQ chicken has been smothered by the sticky side. Then I go in the family room, pour myself a modest (yeah, right) glass of fabulous Syrah (I am hooked) and then it starts. I start to think about the possible sticky plastic poison that I will be enjoying tomorrow for lunch. I start to picture the news flashes that are sure to come, "Warning to all Saran Press-N-Seal users"... Then I will wonder if I have to start to boil my water, or some other ridiculous solution, but it will be too late. They will find me, replete with the bare chicken bones and at first people will think to themselves, "Ah, it makes sense, she choked on a chicken bone- sort of Mama Cass style"-(don't ask me why I would bring the image of Mama Cass to your minds, I am just saying). But then my family will demand an autopsy and there it will be...the sticky poison. Then everyone will know- I wasn't crazy, just well before my time.