I bet you weren't expecting another post about poop

I swear to you this is totally true because not even I could make this up. Well, I probably could, but I wouldn't, because poop is fecking gross. Yeah, this is another post about poop.

So last night I was walking Rooney and as usual he pooped and I don't know where you heathens are from, but in my neighborhood, you pick up your dog's poop. Which I did, with one of those blue plastic bags that the dog poop fairy leaves around the neighborhood. Or, at least, I assume it's the dog poop fairy because who else would leave rolls of plastic bags to pick up your dog's poop? Last I checked, not Santa. Cheap bastard.

So I picked up the poop and tied the bag and was walking down a relatively busy street with shops and restaurants and walkers and all that stuff, and there was a little breeze so my hair kept blowing into my face but every time I pushed it off my cheek, I would get this really strong whiff of poop. And at first I was all whatever it's probably because I'm carrying around a bag full of dog shit.

But then it happened again, even after I threw the poopie bag into a trash can, so I looked down at my hand AND THERE WAS POOP ON MY FINGERS. THE FINGERS THAT I HAD BEEN TOUCHING MY FACE WITH. HOLY SHIT, YA'LL THERE WAS POOP ON MY FACE.

I rubbed my cheek with the back of my hand, but once you've had poop on your face, it doesn't come off so easily. So naturally, I started running home because what if someone I knew saw me with poopie hands and poop on my cheek? And what if I met someone who wanted to shake my hand so then I'd have to decide if I wanted to pretend nothing was wrong and shake their hand and get poop on THEIR hand, or tell them that I can't shake their hand because I have poop on MY hand and then forever be known as the blond chick with poopie hands? AND WHAT ABOUT THE POOP ON MY FACE? GAH.

When I got home I washed my face raw and I still felt poopie. And then later that night when I was telling B the story I was waving around the paint brush I had in my hand for emphasis because POOP, people, deserves a little emphasis. And B was all "you look like fecking Harry Potter waving that wand." And I was all "it's not a wand, it's a paint brush" and he was all "I'm totally using that for Halloween next year to be Harry Potter because it looks just like a wand" and then I got my paint brush all up in his face and was like "THIS STORY IS NOT ABOUT HARRY POTTER. THIS STORY IS ABOUT POOP. SHAZAM." And I waved the paintbrush that is not a wand in his face. And then B acted all offended and was like "th'fuck, Bridget, Harry Potter does not say Shazam." He says experion or experiment or expatriate or something like that I don't remember because I'm not a huge dork. And now I'm going to get 500 angry e-mails from everyone who loves Harry Potter and wants to use their tricks* to turn me into a huffelupagus or snuffelupagus or powerpuff girl or whatever. AND I'M SORRY I OFFENDED YOU BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GAH POOP.

SHAZAM.

*Illusions, Michael. Tricks are something whores do for money. Or candy

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