Really, It's true. I want to be all chic and gracious and lovely and all that, but on a regular day, it's just not happening.
Take today, for example. My lovely sister has a birthday in October. Her very generous husband always gives her tickets to the Nutcracker Market. But not just any tickets. No, he gets the ones that allow her to get priority admission and enjoy the fashion show and luncheon. But wait! There's more!! He also buys tickets for me, my other sister, and my mother! We have a major girls' day at one of the shopping events of the year. How fun is that? I should have no trouble being chic in such circumstances. Well, let me tell you.
My sister came to get me bright and early. I was all ready to go. We were to meet my other sister and my mother at the Market. I hop in and we hit the road. Just a few blocks from the house she says, "Did I step in poop?" No, of course, she didn't. I did!
I live on a very narrow street. She had parked in the vacant lot across the street when she came to get me. Everyone in the neighborhood who walks their dog walks it over there because they don't have to clean up after them. I know it is a minefield, but I was excited and in a hurry and not paying attention. She turns around and heads back to my house.
I shoot the hose at my foot and purse because OF COURSE I put my foot by my purse and the enormous gooshy mess got on it, too.
OK, my foot is clean, but my pants are wet. I guess I'll just go change.
I am now wearing jeans instead of my nice, brown pants. We're running a little late, but we are rolling again and everything is cool.
We arrive and breeze past the huddled masses waiting for the official opening. We peruse the aisles of glittery gorgeousness. At one booth, while I am waiting for my sister who is buying an engraved ornament, I switch my purse from one hand to the other. I look down in horror and realize that the handle to my purse has dried poop on it. Poop. Dried. On the handle. Yes, the handle that my hand has been holding. Time to go to the bathroom.
I scrub my purse in the sink as best I can with paper towels and soap and water. Then I scrub my hands feverishly.
Can we be done with the poop now!?
The rest of the day was comparatively uneventful and really quite lovely, but I think I am scarred for life.
I bet it was the bulldog.