There are some pieces of my past that don’t come up in casual conversation. For example, when I’m talking to someone about how much they love the Grateful Dead, I don’t mention that when Jerry Garcia died, I didn’t really know who he was. Likewise, I don’t often mention where I was when Jerry Garcia died… in a university lab, drinking chicory coffee with a deadhead and slicing rat brains for a neuroscience experiment. Just one of those stories you edit thoughtfully when your friends are hippies.

Given that my career has largely consisted of un-scientific desk jobs, I wouldn’t be stunned if this piece of my history came as a surprise to some people. I did not, however, expect it to come as such a shock to my life partner of 7+ years.

The other day, he asked if I had read an article about lab mice in the recent issue of Mental Floss. I hadn’t, but I started talking about my experience working in a lab. He looked at me curiously, as though he was waiting for the punch line of some bizarre joke.

Neither vegetarian nor hippy, my husband wasn’t disturbed with deep moral concerns. Well, at least not at first.

I could almost hear the alarms go off in his skull as I explained that I used a very sharp blade on a regular basis.  Given that I still walk into walls in the apartment we’ve lived in for 5 consecutive years, I can understand his concern. As I described the process for cleaning the blade (acetone, WD-40), I noticed him glancing surreptitiously to verify 10 complete fingers.

And the other thing that really disturbed him… see, I never had pets growing up. So the summer I spent playing with lab rats that were slated for execution is really the most time I have ever consistently spent socializing with animals. As I explained this, I could see him imagining the family dog he would someday like to have and contemplating whether or not it would be safe in my care. But I liked the rats. I think it was healthy to know that they would die, as we all will. The difference was that I knew exactly when their day would come. (It was on the project calendar).

I guess it’s all on the table now. I know I’m not the only one with an odd job in my past. I’m just hoping that in time, my spouse will stop looking at me like I’m Wednesday Addams every time I notice a cute puppy.