Why can't I have a weak stomach?

Ok, that isn't a question that a lot of people ask. But after spending two hours this morning, elbow deep in fetal pig guts, I would kill to be the squeamish one, instead of the one who always has to do the nasty stuff because no one else will. When Biology started, the teacher gave us all the impression that there would be no dissections. And yet, there I was at eight in the morning opening up a baby pig while the stench of formaldahyde nearly knocked me out. Not to mention having to put up with my very freshman lab partner. "Pig wiener!!!!!"

*WARNING: Stop here if easily grossed out. Seriously.*

See, I can totally handle looking at dead animal insides, if I didn't make that clear enough. The thing that bothers me is that I love animals and I get overly attached to them. Piggie wasn't any different than the cat I had to first skin and then dissect back in high school. Yes, I had to dissect a cat. Yes, I am still bothered by that four years later. Here's a giant example of how attached I get to animals: I remember looking down at poor little piggie this morning and thinking to myself: "This is so wrong. I bet this little critter (yeah, I'm Southern, deal with it) had hopes and dreams that did NOT involve lying on a table with her stomach cut open and her legs up in the air!" Later on when I found out she was a girl, I had to fight the urge to grab some paper towels and cover her up.

This has been my most graphic post ever. If you managed to finish reading it, go get yourself a nice treat. You deserve it.