A couple friends and I went to the beach Saturday (o blessed day!), and there, on our way back to the car, lying in the parking lot, was a sack of dog poop that had been run over. It was squirting out on one side, as though re-pooped by the bag, and the thin layer of poop that remained inside the plastic managed to perfectly preserve the intricate contours of the treads. For some reason this delighted and amused me. Immensely.
I pointed it out to my two friends. Believe it or not, they did not find it as amusing as I did, possibly because their senses of humor are not nearly as subtle OR refined as mine.
What can I say? Squished poop just made me tremendously happy.
So happy that I wished I had brought my camera so I could have posted a photo on One Little Joy.
So happy that just now, two days later, I am still thinking of it on the way up the hill from the train and can tell I am smiling to myself so very broadly. So broadly, in fact, that strangers are looking at me and thinking I am probably in love. Or at least very deeply in like. But, no, silly strangers, I am just thinking of squished excrement.
So happy that, when I pass a poop sack that some irresponsible pet owner has left lying around on this low stone wall, I have the urge to grab it and oh-so-discreetly toss it in front of oncoming traffic. You know, to see if I can reproduce the entire beautiful experience again for myself. But I restrain these impulses.
Because, as you all know, I am the literal embodiment of discipline and self-restraint.