Gross & Dares Questions

Bathroom announcements are brief, private-ish, and people will just learn to tune you out.

Every restaurant, movie theater, and library visit becomes a negotiation if you haven’t gone first.

A sidewalk lick is one horrible moment and it’s over—quick and completely ignorable in hindsight.

City sidewalks are a greatest hits collection of everything you’d rather not think about licking.

Cities have strangers willing to help, free water fountains, and the occasional unlocked church.

No money and no phone in a city means you’re dependent on the kindness of people who are largely in a hurry.

A month of misery has a hard end date, and the wet sock suffering will be over before you know it.

That cold, clingy, squelching sensation greets every single morning for thirty straight days.

Breath mints, gum, and mouthwash exist.

No amount of brushing fixes it for long, so every close conversation becomes a negotiation.

You’ll have endless time and light to tackle every outdoor project, hobby, and adventure you’ve been putting off.

Your body runs on a sunrise-sunset clock, and thirty days without darkness turns sleep into a distant memory.

One year is a short sentence, and at least you already know exactly what you’re dealing with.

Spending twelve months in a relationship built on mutual dislike will test every ounce of your patience.

Cockroaches are tiny and can’t bite—they’re mostly just horrifying to look at.

Thousands will be in your hair within seconds.

Rats are a food source in many cultures, so you’re joining an existing culinary tradition.

You’re still sitting down to a plate of rat, and your brain will not let that slide quietly.

A two-hour window gives you plenty of time to excuse yourself and find a private corner.

You’ll spend every outing clocking the countdown and plotting your escape.