Poop in the Park

I had a whole Chipotle burrito today (Chicken, save thirty cents.) and I felt humongous. That, in addition to two rice krispies and buttload of french fries that pass themselves off as "Veggie Straws". (Deep fried and taste good with ketchup = french fries) So I decided to haul my fat ass off the drums (Yeah, I'm a drummer. Call me.) and take a few laps around the park with Sebastien.

I'd finally motivated myself to exercise, and brought my favorite dog (I am not ashamed of favoritism. Or...anti-favoritism as it were.) to keep me entertained, and what the heck happens?

Sebastien poops.

In the park.

On the sidewalk.

How mortifying.

"Don't slow down! We're going to make this lap this time! Why are you walking funny? Did you step on something? Oh, poor ba--POOP!"

Stupid dog.

Then I'm stuck with a serious dilemma. There are no poopie bags in the park. Do I do the morally correct thing and pick up that piece of poo with my bare hands, stick it in my pocket, and dispose of it when I get home? Or do I take the grey route and kick it off the path -- in my mom's shoes.

I'm sorry Jesus.


I jogged my little tushie home as fast as I could, stopping every once in a while to turn to Sebastien and say "Don't you dare! Suck that back in!" and "NO POO! Wait until we get home! We're almost there!!" I swear, racing poo is not easy. I got home in the five seconds flat, I don't even lie. And the moment he stepped through those red gates, he relieved himself like a chocolate ice cream dispenser. I was thoroughly disgusted.

And in the end, we only took one lap around the park.

One out of three, that's one more than I usually get. Good job, Abby. (: