The Poop Troop...

Cash and I were enjoying the day off last Monday, soaking up the late afternoon sunshine in the backyard.  The dogs had destroyed a cardboard box and paper was scattered across the yard.  Cash seems to thrive when given helpful tasks rather than no direction at all.  I walked him around the yard and gave him paper to throw in the trash.  He got the hang of it quickly so I tried to hurriedly pick up the little piles of dog poop while he was distracted.  I pushed all the poo into a pile, keeping an eye on Cash.  He was wiggling and waddling all over the yard, giggling and squealing while throwing handfuls of trash into his own pile.

I was making killer progress on my poo pile.

Or so I thought.

I scooped another lump and looked up to check the progress of my little man.  He carefully picked up a scrap of paper in one hand and poop with the other.  Before I could yell, he threw the paper in the trash and added the poo to my pile, looking at me with sheer satisfaction.

"AHHHHH!  Noooo!" I yelled.

His lip started to quiver and tears started falling.

Bad mom had hurt his feelings.

"Oh honey, mamma's sorry.  Good job" I said while scooping him up in my arms.  "I love you bubba.  I'm sorry"

His eyes still full of tears, he wrapped his arms around my neck, poop getting on my shirt.

Ah. Ugh.  Gag.

After a thorough scrubbing - and shirt disposal - we settled on sharing an ice cream... because we all know, ice cream fixes everything.

No more poop scooping around the little man.

Ever.

Bark. Bark.

I've got a great guy.  He's thoughtful, selfless, caring...and on and on.  Sounds wonderful right?

Let me explain why it isn't.

A couple months back, he started swinging by the local ice cream shop on his way home and picking up a scope of ice cream for Cash and me.  He doesn't do it often, only about once a month, but it's enough to create in me...

Pavlov's Dog.

He calls when he leaves work, "Hey babe, I'm on my way home.  See you soon.  Love you."

My stomach starts to grumble.

My mouth starts to water.

I smell the phantom scent of creamy goodness.

I hear his keys in the lock and...

29 days out of 30, his hands are empty.  But my brain refuses to acknowledge that the 29 ice cream free days exist.

We can't afford to eat ice cream everyday - and my waistline doesn't need it, but I can't handle the bundle of nerves I have become.  I'm feel like screaming, "WHERE'S MY FRIGGIN' ICE CREAM OLD MAN?!?!?!?" Every. Single. Day.

Why did I listen to my mother?  I shouldn't have married him.  There are plenty of jerks out there.  I couldn't pick one of them?!?  What was I thinking!?!?!

This is leather?

Chris and I had decided to wait to purchase a larger vehicle until we saved more cash but when the engine started to sputter on the 'silver beast', the registration arrived in the mail and the smog was due, we changed our minds.

We shopped around on a very rainy December 31st.  I explained what I wanted and what I was willing to pay.  "Would you like leather?" the salesman asked.

"How much extra is that?"

He pulled out his invoice and pointed at the addition.

I coughed.  Sometimes I forget how cheap the Koreans make cars.

We got the leather.  I'm fairly certain the only animal who lost skin for me was a yak.  Cows just ain't that cheap.

The car also has an 'ECO' light that illuminates when you drive 'green'.  If you don't accelerate too quickly, brake suddenly, and sit idling your engine for 20 minutes while applying a final layer of mascara before work, the light comes on. It's supposed to alleviate the guilt some feel because they drive an SUV (I feel none of this guilt).

I have seen this light illuminated once...

while Chris was driving.

Even my car tells me I'm bad for the planet.

I love the car.  It's great.  Yak and all.