The other night, SB wanted to go out for dinner, but I wanted to stay in. We compromised by going to one of those fancy grocery stores for various treats to eat while watching a movie.
When we pulled up to the fancy store, all a glitter with holiday magic, I prepared to excitedly leap from the car. That was when I noticed something weird on the floor of the car…
and on my shoe…
AND ON MY PURSE which was on the floor next to my feet.
That’s right. Not only did I step in the hugest pile of dog shit ever shat, it was all over the floor of the car AND on my favorite red purse. In the stitching even!
Thank goodness fancy grocery stores have nice public bathrooms. Once inside, I discovered that the poo was not just contained to the rubbery parts of my shoe, there was poo up the sides of my shoe, even stuck in the little holes.
While furiously trying to remove the poo from both my shoes and my purse, I got poo under my finger nails.
(I’ll pause here for that to sink in. Under. My. Fingernails.)
I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, and eventualy joined SB in the heavenly bakery, where I received the appropriate amount of sympathy. I then busied myself in the pardisiacal produce section, trying desperately to erase the poo images from my mind, compulsively sniffing my fingers every few minutes to make sure I couldn’t smell anything.
Then I went home and kicked my neighbor’s asses for allowing their dog to take a dump on my curb grass. Not really. But I gave them the stink eye (ha!) on my way in the house.
So, no matter what this Wednesday may be throwing at you, just be glad there isn’t any poo on your purse.
Whenever I step in poo, I always feel a deep sense of shame, like I am the poo girl and that pile of poo was meant for me. So your title struck me as funny, and a little bit sad…no matter what, we do NOT deserve to step in poo! You are good enough, smart enough, and doggone it, people like you!
Yes, beth, the shame! I will forever be watching for poo now when I cross that piece of grass.
Ewww, sorry to hear that!
Nothing like poo on your shoe.
That is a very, very sad tale. And I would also have been compulsively smelling my hand until forceably stopped by my S.O.
Finely: Word.
Beth: You and I have such ticks in common.
why is it never with the old shoes that you hate and have been meaning to throw away anyway?
why, god, why??????
V: I know! In the little holes, I tell you.