Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am a responsible soul. I show up when I say I will. I get things done. I check things off a to-do list like no one else. I do more than my fair-share of the class project. I help with the dishes, I pay my bills, I always restock the toilet paper.
But nobody’s perfect.
There are a few instances in which my diligence and responsibility are lacking. When my coffee cup is empty, I’ll sometimes leave it on the grocery store shelf, as I am too lazy to find a trashcan (and hello – I have shopping to do). I have been known to throw my gum out of the car window – which is risky if you believe in “gum karma,” as I do. I am a firm believer that if one disposes of their gum in an irresponsible way, they will step in something sticky within 6 months. Don’t believe me? I dare you to try it.
However, the most audacious and careless thing that I do involves taking dogs on walks. Friends, I cannot bring myself to clean up dog poop. The conscientious dog-walker comes prepared with grocery sacks, ready to swoop down and scoop up whatever mess has been left in the neighbor’s flower garden. But I? Stand there, feigning ignorance, looking around casually until the dog is done doing his business. And then we swiftly walk away.
This is awful – I know it. It is disrespectful and rash. But the thought of cleaning it up is just so gross. I cannot handle the act of handling crap. Short of lugging an actual shovel with me, cleaning up after the dog would require me to actually feel the still-warm poop through the plastic bag. And that, my friends, is something that I am just unwilling to do.
However, I am beginning to believe that the same principle that comes into play with “gum karma” is true in this case, as well. Let’s call it “crap karma.”
This morning, I took Rowdy, the largest of my parent’s dogs, on a long walk. As usual, he did his business – in several carefully manicured lawns – and we quickly moved on. As we continued along the bike path, we came to a stretch of asphalt that falls underneath some power lines. And this is what I saw:
I should have known. But similar to Daniel in the Lion’s Den, or Natalie Maines at a concert in Dallas, I marched boldly into the line of fire. And you guys, quite literally, a shit storm ensued.
It was a Hiroshima of excrement. Droppings dropping all around me, I squealed and ran, Rowdy oblivious to the absolute HORROR that we were experiencing. It was as if the sky opened up and God boomed, “REPENT, ye woman of unclean morals… and unclean shirt, haha!”
(I am envisioning my sibling’s faces as they read this… shut up, you guys, STOP LAUGHING.)
Luckily, my hair remained untouched. But my shirt is most definitely splattered. And sadly, I STILL don’t know if this experience will be enough for me to start cleaning up after the dogs. I mean, I have my standards.