Today I found a turd in my van. Naturally (my youngest child being five years of age and well potty trained), I was flabbergasted. This is my story.
A few months ago I started selling Jamberry nail wraps. Which, by the way, I only did to pay for my "habit". My business is only two months old, and it has been amazingly successful. That being said, I rarely do home parties, but I was invited to do a manicure night at a good friend's house.
When I got back in my van six hours later, I posted the following facebook status:
When I used to babysit as a teenager I remember parents picking me up or taking me home in the dreaded minivan. They would have to move a car seat - leaving me to sit on cheerio crumbs, dried up french fries, undisclosed stains... and the stench... it defies explanation. It's an overwhelmingly moist odor - like Cheese Nips, sweaty feet, and worms. Many people say that the elderly give off an unpleasant odor. I submit to you that children have an equally indescribable and disturbing odor that cannot be masked by store-bought air fresheners of any kind. Thus, when there is an odor in my van, I always blame it on the kids.
This morning, a friend who works as a secretary at a local funeral home asked if I would come show her some Jamberry things. I told her, "Yeah, I deal them out of the back of my van." (Actually, I had just been too lazy to take them out the night before. So I had my "paraphernaila" on hand.) I drove to the side ramp (where she had directed me - since the parking lot was full). This funeral home is in a residential area next to a busy street. It's yard is immaculate and perfectly groomed.
At some point in the conversation with my friend, I set down my phone and keys in a VERY illogical place. So, when I was getting ready to leave just a very short time later, I was distressed to not locate the keys. I had a very short window of time to get to a baby shower. I was dressed in a sundress and had hair and makeup done. (Setting the stage...) When I went back to the hatch of the van, I checked everywhere. As I lifted up one of the Thirty-One bags I use to carry my Jamberry stuff I noticed something that I never expected to find in my van... a turd of notable size and squishiness had dropped from the bottom of my bag onto the van carpet. Mortified/bewildered/disgusted... these words would have aptly described me at that moment. "Who... what... when...WHY...???" These questions flashed through my mind when I had a terrible realization: This pile of excrement of unkown origin must be dealt with.
I took out my Thirty-One bag, took it over to the grass and, without thinking, started to rub the bottom of it vigorously across the lawn to try to remove as much poo residue as possible (in an organic setting). I started to mentally go through the ludicrous idea of me ringing the funeral home side doorbell, turd in hand, to ask if I could dispose of it. This could not be. (Mind you, this is the same funeral home where, just months ago, I attended the wrong funeral, because the one I had meant to attend was across the street at a different funeral home at the same time. I didn't notice it was the wrong funeral until I was signing the guest book, but it was too late. Because everyone asks "what'd you do next?" I signed it in scribbles, because I was too slow-whitted to think of an alias. I gave condolences to a few family members and left. So I have a history of humiliation with this funeral home, and today would be no exception.)
I had but two restaurant napkins in the glovebox, and I used both of them to pick up the turd... and then... the disposal. Where, oh, where would I put this turd? I had no choice... now beginning to run late for a baby shower... I placed it carefully in the edged crevice between the funeral home drive and the lawn. As I looked around I imagined all the people who had watched this scene unfold (neighbors, mourners, passersby)... lady in a nice dress, wiping her bag on the grass, picking out a seeming turd from the back of her van, placing it on a well-groomed funeral home lawn. This.is.my.life.
I spent the next four hours wracking my brain. WHaaaa?? After the shower I had to go a town over to set up for a vendor event. While setting up I had to remove the infamous poop bag from my van and carry it into the store. Halfway through setting up...Lo and behold... a container of baby wipes!! I immediately took a couple and started to scrub the bottom of my bag. The wipes were dirty and smelly, and I asked the cashier, "Do you guys have a trash can?" "No," she replied, "We don't... just hand it to me, and I'll throw it out." (holding out her hand) I stopped dead in my tracks, looked at my husband (who had joined me), and said, "Hey, honey, grab me another wipe, please?" I tried to wrap the poop wipes up in a clean one, but I knew the stench was going to give me away, and I imagined what she would think if I handed her poopy wipes, "Where did she wipe poop from? It's just her and her husband." The idea of her leaving it to the imagination was too much. So I had to tell her the whole story.
The answer to the mystery? When I got to my friend's house the night before, I had begun to unload my stuff from the van. As I was gone with the first load, one of their barn cats got into the van without me noticing. When I put my stuff back in the van later, it was pitch dark. So I didn't notice that I was setting my stuff on a pile of cat excrement. The cat appeared (I thought from under the van) while I was putting the rest of my things in it.
This is my second poop blog. The other one is here: Disgusting Disgustingness, and involves my children unwittingly sliding down a slide full of adult human excrement. It seriously trumps this one, but I'm beginning to think I might be worthy of an honorary CNA.
A few months ago I started selling Jamberry nail wraps. Which, by the way, I only did to pay for my "habit". My business is only two months old, and it has been amazingly successful. That being said, I rarely do home parties, but I was invited to do a manicure night at a good friend's house.
When I got back in my van six hours later, I posted the following facebook status:
This morning, a friend who works as a secretary at a local funeral home asked if I would come show her some Jamberry things. I told her, "Yeah, I deal them out of the back of my van." (Actually, I had just been too lazy to take them out the night before. So I had my "paraphernaila" on hand.) I drove to the side ramp (where she had directed me - since the parking lot was full). This funeral home is in a residential area next to a busy street. It's yard is immaculate and perfectly groomed.
At some point in the conversation with my friend, I set down my phone and keys in a VERY illogical place. So, when I was getting ready to leave just a very short time later, I was distressed to not locate the keys. I had a very short window of time to get to a baby shower. I was dressed in a sundress and had hair and makeup done. (Setting the stage...) When I went back to the hatch of the van, I checked everywhere. As I lifted up one of the Thirty-One bags I use to carry my Jamberry stuff I noticed something that I never expected to find in my van... a turd of notable size and squishiness had dropped from the bottom of my bag onto the van carpet. Mortified/bewildered/disgusted... these words would have aptly described me at that moment. "Who... what... when...WHY...???" These questions flashed through my mind when I had a terrible realization: This pile of excrement of unkown origin must be dealt with.
I took out my Thirty-One bag, took it over to the grass and, without thinking, started to rub the bottom of it vigorously across the lawn to try to remove as much poo residue as possible (in an organic setting). I started to mentally go through the ludicrous idea of me ringing the funeral home side doorbell, turd in hand, to ask if I could dispose of it. This could not be. (Mind you, this is the same funeral home where, just months ago, I attended the wrong funeral, because the one I had meant to attend was across the street at a different funeral home at the same time. I didn't notice it was the wrong funeral until I was signing the guest book, but it was too late. Because everyone asks "what'd you do next?" I signed it in scribbles, because I was too slow-whitted to think of an alias. I gave condolences to a few family members and left. So I have a history of humiliation with this funeral home, and today would be no exception.)
I had but two restaurant napkins in the glovebox, and I used both of them to pick up the turd... and then... the disposal. Where, oh, where would I put this turd? I had no choice... now beginning to run late for a baby shower... I placed it carefully in the edged crevice between the funeral home drive and the lawn. As I looked around I imagined all the people who had watched this scene unfold (neighbors, mourners, passersby)... lady in a nice dress, wiping her bag on the grass, picking out a seeming turd from the back of her van, placing it on a well-groomed funeral home lawn. This.is.my.life.
I spent the next four hours wracking my brain. WHaaaa?? After the shower I had to go a town over to set up for a vendor event. While setting up I had to remove the infamous poop bag from my van and carry it into the store. Halfway through setting up...Lo and behold... a container of baby wipes!! I immediately took a couple and started to scrub the bottom of my bag. The wipes were dirty and smelly, and I asked the cashier, "Do you guys have a trash can?" "No," she replied, "We don't... just hand it to me, and I'll throw it out." (holding out her hand) I stopped dead in my tracks, looked at my husband (who had joined me), and said, "Hey, honey, grab me another wipe, please?" I tried to wrap the poop wipes up in a clean one, but I knew the stench was going to give me away, and I imagined what she would think if I handed her poopy wipes, "Where did she wipe poop from? It's just her and her husband." The idea of her leaving it to the imagination was too much. So I had to tell her the whole story.
The answer to the mystery? When I got to my friend's house the night before, I had begun to unload my stuff from the van. As I was gone with the first load, one of their barn cats got into the van without me noticing. When I put my stuff back in the van later, it was pitch dark. So I didn't notice that I was setting my stuff on a pile of cat excrement. The cat appeared (I thought from under the van) while I was putting the rest of my things in it.
This is my second poop blog. The other one is here: Disgusting Disgustingness, and involves my children unwittingly sliding down a slide full of adult human excrement. It seriously trumps this one, but I'm beginning to think I might be worthy of an honorary CNA.
