Every spring my husband and I switch off for poop duty, kind of like claiming your kids on your tax return every other year with your ex husband, except when picking up poop I don’t get money in 10 to 14 days.
So, it turns out it has been nice enough all week so that I can finally pick up the poop that has accumulated in my back yard. Hey-o!
I DO NOT pick up poop in the winter. Not only because I LOATHE the cold and wish it would fuck off but also because there’s usually five feet of snow at all times from November to April around here. And when the poop hits the snow, the heat just makes it sink right to the bottom. Disgusting, I know, but I wanted to give you that visual. You’re welcome.
Anyway, it’s 50 degrees and all the snow is melted so I put on my picking-up-poop gear which consists of picking-up-poop shoes, my sheer white picking-up-poop dress, slapping on an abundance of make up and making sure that my long dark luscious locks are perfectly in place. I double wrap my hand in Jewel bags, grab an extra bag for poop disposal and a glass of wine. (It was really a six-pack but when picking up poop, elegance is key just so you know.) There. I’m ready for poop doody.
I swung open the back door and forged into the battle field as if George Washington himself were there cheering me on. I couldn’t believe how much shit was scattered on my lawn. There was shit galore. I found a beginning spot, put down the bag, bent over and scooped.
As I was dropping the muffins into the bag, I would see another pile out of my peripheral vision. I would pivot my foot and turn without standing up. This went on until the area I could reach without moving the bag was entirely poop free. I would stand and scope out my next site, which was only two steps away. This process went on for about an hour. There was poop everywhere I looked! It seemed to go on for miles. I would tip toe around the yard walking slowly and quietly, with my infra-poop goggles, so I could do a sneak attack on any left over doggie muffins in the yard.
At one point I had to go get a 13 gallon garbage bag and put it inside of another 13 gallon garbage bag. Heavy shit.
When the task finally ended I had to carry it to the big garbage can in the front of the house. Now I have to tell you, I’m just about five foot four and the can is level with my chest, so lifting a ninety-seven pound bag of dog shit into this thing without a big scene would be quite the art form.
But I’m sorry to tell you the form I took was not art by any means. I lifted the lid and had to give it a push so it would flip to the back of the can and as I did this my body leaned forward just enough to tip the can in the direction the lid was going. Can you guess what happened next?
Yes, the can kept going and I went with it. It never occurred to me to let go of the bag of shit! I held onto it as if it were my newborn baby that I wasn’t going to allow to get hurt in the fall. Luckily I held on tight enough that it didn’t open and spill everywhere, as any good mother would do. The lack of judgment and tipsiness may have been a result of the
six pack wine but I dunno. Just sayin’. I’m still a good mother! Shut the fuck up.
Sooo, I rolled off the garbage can, stood up and looked around to see if there were any witnesses to my shenanigans. There were not. Phew.
Needless to say, my yard is now poop free and no major injuries were incurred.
Mission accomplished. Thanks for stopping by.
~Find the Funny Today