Feces

I deal with a lot of crap everyday. I don't mean that figuratively. I don't have an unruly boss to deal with. I don't have a moronic job to trudge through for eight hours. I stay at home to take care of my daughter, along with a few pets. So, I actually have to deal with crap. Poop. Shit. Caca. Doody. Tootsie Rolls in your shorts.

Morgan is currently between 'stages' in diapers. A number 1 is sometimes too small to hold a healthy movement. But the number 2 is often not on very tight and sometimes we get a 'leg-runner'. Yesterday she turned a blue jumper into a shade of green resembling spoiled olives. And by the way, if formula has such an extreme effect on her poop, should she really be eating it? What's that stuff doing to her stomach?!?!

When Chick and I first got Jack, the cat, we made a deal - I feed him every morning and she changes the cat litter once a week. Yeah, I was pretty happy with the deal. But since she got pregnant I have been changing the litter. Apparently there is some theory about pregnant women coming into contact with cat shit. I think Oprah made it up one day just to give women one more thing to nag their husband about. Anyway, the pregnancy is long over and yet I'm still on litter duty. I think I need a new deal.

The Anole died the other day. All I can say is that a lizards funeral is much less glamorous than that of a hermit crab. Anyway, the frog, Little Guy, has the entire terrarium to himself. I'm about to clean it out just to determine how much poop one little frog creates. You wouldn't think it would be much - he only eats crickets. And why does he have to poop on the glass walls? I think he likes to see how many poops it takes before he can't see out anymore.

During my daily constitutionals I play Yahtzee. No, I'm not throwing dice in the bathroom sink. It's an electric, hand-held game. I play one throw of the dice then score it. That takes about 13 rolls and I usually manage to score around 120. I play ten times and shoot for 1300. Unlees I had Mexican for dinner. Then I have a shot at 3000.

I have to mow the lawn. My damn neighbor mowed yesterday and it's making me look bad. Of course before getting out the mower I need to get out the scooper and bucket. Believe it or not I can tell which pile of dog shit was King's and which was Queen's. King's shit is very large and long while Queenie shits little golf balls. If you think that's ridiculous then think about how they tell each other apart.


By the way, if you found any of that to be interesting, you may be constipated.