My alarm went off like any other morning, and even though silencing my phone and staying in bed for the foreseeable future was a much more attractive prospect than leaving my drool-bedazzled pillow, my furry, fail-safe alarm hopped onto my pillow mid-purr, forcing me to rise if not shine.
When I wake up in the morning my first thought is not,
What a wonderful day to be alive!
It’s closer to,
OMG I HAVE TO PEE SO BADLY. How did I manage to not wet the bed?
I ambled to the bathroom in the dark with my hair a mess, retainer still in place, and bags accessorizing the sleepies at the corners of my eyes. In the morning, I delay turning a light on until the very last minute. The minute you turn a light on at home, responsibilities begin.
Alas, on this morning I learned the horrors that can come of walking around barefoot in the dark as a pet owner.
I took two steps into the bathroom—the first one was routine, but something went horribly wrong with the second. When I shifted my weight to my right foot, I sunk down into something chilled to room temperature. It was mushy, and I could tell whatever it was had flattened and affixed itself the bottom of my foot. In my heart of hearts, I knew I had just stepped in poo barefooted.
Wait a second, how could you not smell it as soon as you got in the bathroom?
Um, maybe because I was in the bathroom? It always smells bad in there! With the things that come out of my boyfriend, it’s a wonder the entire apartment doesn’t smell like a colon (as in, part of the anatomy–I imagine grammatical colons smell like Fig Newtons).
I’m perched in front of the toilet with one leg up like a feces-ridden flamingo contemplating what just happened. Because it’s early in the morning, and because stepping in shit without so much as a sock or a slipper barrier takes you to a dark place, these are some of the thoughts I entertained:
1.) Did my boyfriend, Mike, wake up for a midnight mutiny and miss the toilet?
2.) I’m going to drop an anvil on the dog’s head.
3.) Maybe I’ll just buy the dog a one-way bus ticket. To Crimea.
4.) MAYBE THIS ISN’T POOP! Maybe Mike woke up for a late night snack and he made some oatmeal. He decided to eat in the bathroom in the dark, because he didn’t want to wake me up! But he spilled a little on the floor, and that’s what I just stepped in. Room temperature oatmeal!
I turned the bathroom light on and saw with my own two eyes a thick, brown layer of poop pressed into the ball of my foot.
The only relatively good news was the poo didn’t get between my toes. When you have shit on your bare foot, you take any silver lining you can get.
Now that I’d ascertained, beyond all reasonable doubt, that there is indeed shit on my foot, I was pissed. I’m no stranger to the crushing woe that comes of stepping in poop in one of my favorite pairs of shoes, but what I’d just endured was beyond compare. Should I fall head over heels in love at this very moment, poop would metaphorically be inches from my face. I angrily did four one-footed hops (angry one-footed hops are probably reserved for amputees, but, heat of the moment and all that) to the paper towel dispenser in the kitchen—
Hang on, why wouldn’t you just use toilet paper? You were in the bathroom! Your hopping transferred your shit foot to the room where food is prepared!
YES, I AM AWARE OF THAT! While toilet paper is the ideal width for cleaning a butt crack, when you have shit on your foot, you want a full size, regulation paper towel, not a collection of tiny squares prone to tearing (Charmin wasn’t on sale the last time we bought TP, okay?).
I turn on the light and start cleaning off my foot, and I hear Mike is still sawing logs in the other room despite there being two lights on and an angry, shit-footed woman hop stomping around.
Am I the only person who only resents her significant other’s ability to sleep through anything whenever something goes wrong? I know I wake up before him, and I don’t want to trouble him with something that isn’t his fault, and rock-a-bye baby etc., but when something unusual happens, I want everyone to be awake to take stock of it, even if it’s too late to do anything to stop this unusual event/probable mess from happening.
So once my foot is cleaned, I did this really dramatic thing where I charged into the bedroom where both my boyfriend and Blu, the dog, were sleeping, and I confront the dog about her despotic dump. It’s 4:10 a.m., and I’m antagonizing a dog about pooping in the house, mostly because I want my boyfriend to wake up on his own (but as a result of the commotion I’m creating) so I can tell him about the ordeal I’ve suffered and maybe even reap a little sympathy. I grabbed both sides of Blu’s head and spluttered,
“You are lucky I don’t ship you off to Crimea!!!!!!”
I glanced over to find Mike dead to the world, blissfully ignorant of Blu’s inside-the-house poop and my unfortunate misstep. I gave up. Clearly, this would have to wait until a more appropriate hour.
Now that I was fully awake, a pressing inquiry crossed my mind:
When Mike woke up in the night to pee, did he manage to avoid the poop in the dark simply by chance? Has the dog been monitoring my bathroom path so she could poop strategically and sabotage me?
Suffice it to say, I don’t know whom to trust anymore, I’ll be using my iPhone as a lantern from now on, and I’m not holding out much hope for a week that’s off to such a shitty start already.
Have you ever stepped in it barefoot? Do you ever try dramatically to wake people up? Is anyone interested in adopting a dog? Crimeans?
