Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Hitting the floor, not the fan
That would be shit.
This is going to be a shit-filled post, so click off if you can't take the shit.
It rained in Los Angeles today -- actually, it didn't just rain. It poured. Los Angeles doesn't take to rain very well, and it was a shitstorm.
See where this is going?
When the boys and I opened the front door into our living room, we nearly stepped into a huge pool of dog shit. Dog diarrhea. There was some sympathetic gagging, but I managed to clean it up and prevent my poor, frail sons from doing the job themselves.
Sophie's bus pulled up just as I put the mop down, so I walked outside to help her off and escort her inside. On the way back, I stepped into some dog shit on the sidewalk and muttered Shit under my breath.
The rain was coming down in buckets, but I managed to get Sophie onto the porch and just as I walked through with her, she went down in a huge shi-- seizure.
I swooped her up and literally threw her seizing body over the side of the couch and yelled Shit!
You really can't make this shit up.