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I learned a valuable lesson yesterday…

Normally if you hear Hubby or I say “dog poo”, we are reminding Little Guy to get his fingers out of his mouth, but from now on, when I hear “dog poo”, it will take on a whole new meaning.

Yesterday was a pretty ordinary day. I took Little Guy to school, and stopped at home to use the restroom and put on some make-up before heading to a planning meeting at the church. I normally don’t put on make-up (except for Sunday morning) but I thought I should make the effort to not look like the walking dead at the early hour of 9:15 a.m. It wasn’t until I was sitting on the couch in the office, that I noticed the giant, thick gob of dog poo the colour and texture of Dijon mustard. I have other reasons for my incredibly intense hatred of Dijon mustard but that’s a story for another day…It was down the inside of my right foot and squished under the straps of leather around my ankle. It had also been transferred to the other foot, and there were patches like yellow scuffs across my toes and half way to one knee. I knew it wasn’t fresh but it still looked…warm…

Let me tell you…there is no easy way to delicately extricate yourself from someone’s office because you have just realized that you are covered in dog poo (and they have carpet on their floor). There is also no easy way to take those boots off without getting dog poo on you – hands or socks…it was no easy choice! I wiped and washed my boots as best as I could in the ladies’ room, making a huge effort to clean up everything in the ladies’ room as well. Then I left them outside the office, and finished the meeting in my socks.

I’d like to say that’s the end of the story…I’d like to…

Have you forgotten where I was between the school and the church? Me too. Until I got home. I had lunch with a friend and did some shopping at the Mall…it wasn’t until I was heading upstairs that I noticed this strange blob on the top step that looked kind of like…O gross! I was in such a hurry that morning that I hadn’t bothered to take off my boots. There was snow on the ground so my boots should be clean, right? Armed with tissue in one hand and a wet washcloth on the other, I had to slowly retrace my steps through the whole house, wiping up drying blobs and yellow scuffs…into the living room (to get the phone), over to the piano (to get my books), upstairs (to use the bathroom – again), into my bedroom (to put on my make-up). It. was. everywhere.

So the moral of my sad little story is this: Always take off your boots at the door.