Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Holders of the Poop Now Equals Two

*Names have been altered to change the weird

There are some conversations that end in total silence and awkwardness. The conversation I had with my sister, Gerardo* and myself was one such conversation (this is background for the story below, I swear). I have no idea how this came up - maybe we were talking about the PBS lineup, but here goes:

G: "It's like when you were little and pooped in your hand."
S & me: ". . ."
G: "Did you ever do that?"
S & me: ". . ."
Finally, I cobble together "Um, no. And why did you do that?"
G: "Well, I was watching Reading Rainbow in the family room, wanted to know how poop felt, had to poop, so pooped in my hand"

So for a very, very long time Gerardo was the only person I knew who had held poop. It was a dubious honor, but nonetheless, remarkable and unique. No longer, my friend. Here is how I joined the ranks of the poop holders:

I got to the boyfriend's house early and it was a beautiful night, so I decided to walk both of his dogs. I get in the house and leash them up and they BOLT out the door, pulling my arms nearly out of the sockets. I am trotting along with them, when nature calls and one of the dogs decides to take a dump. No worries, I use the plastic bag to pick it up and thus become the dog walker carrying the smelly poop in a bag. Oh, how I will wish for being that guy in a few minutes (foreshadowing, gentle reader).

Then we get to the park. The dogs love the park, but there was a soccer game in the park. The dogs were not happy to have their park usurped. The other one proceeds to take a massive dump in front of like 10 people. So I definitely have to pick it up. I use the bag and I am not sure what happened, but bag is gone and I just have poop in my hand. Lots of poop. Two dogs worth of poop IN MY HAND. I look around for a trashcan, but there is none. I am holding both the leashes in one hand, while they are being willfull and still pissed about the park. I drag the dogs around for another quarter of a mile until I find a dumpster and lob the poop into it. There is poop all over my hand, so I wipe it on some grass while trying not to get it on the dogs and my clothes.

So we head back to the house and are about 100 yards away when I realize that my keys are missing. They were with me when I left. At this point, I figure that boyfriend will be home soon, I can leave the dogs with him and look for my keys. So I sit on the front stoop and wait. The dogs don't understand this lame game and they definitely don't understand why I smell like poop. They are trying to get upwind of me when boyfriend comes back to see smelly girlfriend sitting on his steps with dogs. Luckily, I have the nicest boyfriend in the whole world who was happy to see me despite the poop smears and the smell.

We walk for a while, with our eyes glued to the ground, when a little girl approaches us and asks us if we are looking for keys. She said that they were in the street, so she picked them up and was guarding them so they wouldn't get run over. She was awesome; I wanted to give her a dog or two.

1 comment:

OptimisticalCynical said...

When you said Gerardo, the only thing I could think of was:

"Ali-a-lah-lah
Poop-o...
Ali-a-lah-lah
Suave..."