Welcome to Day 3 of Writing Crap
When I was a tween (my word when I was a tween were we even called tweens?) it was my job to pick up dog poop in the yard. There was somewhat of a system to this…the poop was scooped with a long handled shovel and deposited in a barrel by our barn. (why we had a poop barrel to this day I am not sure… kinda gross).
One warm sunny day I was sent outside to scoop poop… sent because there is no way I would have done it on my own accord.
There I am… pile on the end of my shovel… headed to the poop barrel… but wait the poop barrel wasn’t in it’s regular place.
Off to the house I go… still carrying the shovel of crap… my goal? Find my mom and ask her where the poop barrel went.
Tragedy struck however, before I could reach my mother … as I stepped from the grass onto the concrete patio my foot caught the edge of the cement and I tripped… landing with my forehead in the poop.
I ran into the bathroom… gagging and sobbing… I could hear my sisters (pictured above) belly laughing outside the door as my mother choked back her own giggle while helping me get the ponytail out of my hair so I could shower.
To this day I am totally squeamish about picking up after my pooch. Ugh.
Are you Writing Crap this week? Leave me a link in the comments.