Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Like mud in your eye, only much, much worse.

July. One of my favorite months. Happy Birthday America? Running the world's largest 10K? Girls trip to NYC? A week long visit to Seattle to see my family? And my birthday? All in the same month? Get out your bells, it is a month long celebration. All we need are some fireworks and we are going to be set for a fantastic America's bday party. (Happy Birthday America. I do love you so.)
Oh, fireworks. As munchkins, we were down with the fireworks.  My step-dad loved them so when we got to make the purchase, we came home with a treasure troves of explosive goods. However, in WA, fireworks were contraband. We had to venture north to an Indian Reservation where fireworks were available by the pallet. 

We made this trip annually. What a great memory! Oh, except for one particular year. Yikes.  When I was 8,  we were on our annual sparkler quest. I was encouraging my step-dad to buy everything I laid my eyes upon when nature called me. Loudly. I had no alternative but to utilize the Port-a-potties lined up near the parking lot. My best friend, Kelly Rae was with me and had she been left behind, this story might have never resurfaced.

I go quickly yet unhappily into the Port-a-potty because even at eight I had a strong aversion for the portable cesspool. I touch nothing and quickly exit. As I step out of the chamber o' disgust, and place my foot in the sandy ground covering, I hurry back to meet my family. 

Kelly and my Mom look down at my foot and ask, "What is THAT?"

I am immediately horrified to the point you want to flee but you also want to sprinkle pixie dust all around shouting, "This never happened. This never happened!!!!"

I look down at my little plastic jelly shoe. Moments ago a favorite shoe. Now, my shoe was something that could not be mistaken for any other thing. Oh. Good. Lord. My tiny foot and formerly favorite shoe was completely esconced in well, a giant piece of human poop.

Remember how tiny your foot was at age 8? Remember jelly shoes? They are basically full of holes. So instead of wearing my trendy and fabulous gelatin-like clear plastic slipper,  I was now wearing a poop boot.

I did what any sassy young girl would do. I cried. And then flung off my shoe. And then cried some more. While laughing hysterically, my Mom and step-dad offer to help. You know they DID NOT WANT to handle the poop boot. I am sure I was gracious in my response. Something like "I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP " in a hysterical fashion when, really? You don't want someone else to scrape the poop off for you? Good job. Dummy. I decide to get a stick to scrape it off. Wise idea. Except it didnt work. It like taking a tooth pick to a dirty tire. Except it smelled 100% more vile. I had to put the shoe back on because I did not want to touch it.  

Listen, I scraped my foot on the ground more than a bull in Barcelona and that poop was NOT coming off.   Why did I step in the most solid poop available?  UGH. What is this person eating? Steel? It wasn't coming off without a pressure washer.

I hobbled back through the gravel parking lot with one shoe and put that ugly thing in the trunk. I stopped crying.  I did not, however, want to shop for fireworks again. And believe, the human poop boot story resurfaced many, many times. Luckily, it finally disintegrated. Unfortunately, there were one or two worse stories that took its place.

I have never stepped in poop again. THANKFULLY. Not even with pets and a diapered baby in my house. Its like mud in your eye, only much, MUCH worse.

Watch your toes tomorrow people, learn from my lesson. 



vanilla said...

May your whole month Of July be a blast! And your shoes free of poop.

I may have been six or seven years old before I figured out why my parents nicknamed me "Fizzle." July 5 birthday.

Slamdunk said...

Oh my! Now that is a true summer memory. I have stepped in such things often as a child and now unfortunately get to relive my childhood in being the poop patrol coordinator for our dog and the yard--one careful step at a time.

Happy belated fourth JM.

Talia said...

Honestly, I've never laughed so hard! Please refrain from using port-a-potties. Ugh!