There are days when I feel like way too much of my life is spent shuttling feces from one place to another.
So let’s start with the obvious changing of poopy diapers directly from the tap, and trying my best not to retch while dropping them into the Pee Pee Efreeti.
Sarlacc <3 Pampers
Only to remove the long, blue poop sausage from the Genie’s innards days later, and migrate the noxious thing to a trashcan in the garage.
Just looking at this is tickling my gag reflex.
Now add to this scatological sum my daily walks with the dogs, where they gleefully squat what appears to be day’s worth of foul and pestilent intestinal yuck onto our neighbors’ lawns.
“Jib feels much better though, thank you.”
“There’s more where that came from, you sick bearded bi#^%”
At which point I have to scoop the poop up with repurposed plastic grocery bags. Which have of late become thinner and thinner as HEB looks for easy ways to save a buck.
It doubles as lingerie.
Then, finally, on Trash Day (which, in case you hadn’t guessed, is today), I roll the putrid scatbasket out to the curb and try not to think about how long it’s going to take for all that business to biodegrade.
But hey, at least I’m not having to deal with an outhouse or septic tank or something on top of all this. If that were the case I’d completely lose my…
No, I can’t do it.
See you tomorrow.