Picture the following scenario, if you will:
It's 5:30am. It's torrentially downpouring and yours truly is outside, wearing mismatched pajamas and Dansko clogs (because Hubs claims $195.00 Burberry Wellies are not a dire neccessity), carrying an oversized umbrella and coaxing an overtired Sheepie to "hurry up and do poops."
We're walking up and down the street, down and up the street and god forbid, someone or something were to even threaten to break Sullivan's focus, I would truly end the life of whomever or whatever was the culprit, with my bare hands. Grumble Grumble Snarl. (As you can see, I'm quite the happy camper at 5:30am in the torrential downpour).
Now, let me say for the record that I always pick up after the dog. I learned very quickly that Sullivan is often times a "two-bagger" on morning walks and sometimes a "three-bagger" on our later walks in the evening. I carry a stash of those ridiculously overpriced poop bags with me wherever I go. Pockets of my JCREW trench? You'll find one in there. Glove compartment of my car? Yep, that's good for two or three of those bags. I even found one of those bags tumbling around the dryer with the last load of laundry I did.
I. always. pickup. after. MY. dog.
So, back to the story at hand. While I'm standing out in the torrential downpour trying to balance an umbrella with a now-pooping Sheepie, I hear this voice.. reminiscent of the Wizard of Oz.. yell something akin to, "something, something, something, DOG!"
Keep in mind, I'm half asleep and looking around for another person, the owner of the voice. There is no one on the street with me. Again, the voice yells, "Yeah! I'm talking to you! You'd better pick up after your dog!"
Ok. Remember to breathe. Count backwards from ten. 10. 9. 8. (As I'm bending over, umbrella flying sideways, rain pouring down the back of my trench, Sheepie yanking on his leash, practically tearing my left limb from it's socket, attempting to pick up the dog poop) 7. 6...
And then, oozing maturity, I scream at the top of my lungs, "F*&K YOU, LADY! F*&K YOU!"
I'll admit. It wasn't one of my finer moments. But honestly? Mysterious Voice Screamer, who do you think you are? Yelling at me from the comforts of your dry home, knowing full well that I walk my dog up and down the street daily, always picking up after him.
Ugh. Sometimes, I hate people.
Happy Rainy Friday.