Picture this if you will...
You are just getting home from working a 9 hour shift. You get the kids in the door, jackets and book bags put up, start getting dinner rolling, homework-a-helping cause you trying to get out of the house in 45 minutes to attend your first revival. You get things to an idle point and take the puppy out for his potty time. I know this dogs pee/shit schedule. It's cold out. I am walking and walking and walking, he pees, pees again, but no poop. Even after walking for 20 minutes, no poop. So you go in so you can feel your fingers again. Trying to finish dinner, it happens....
DOGSHIT to be exact.
That little bleeping, bleeping puppy of mine come right in and SHIT in my floor. Not just any shit mind you, DIAREAR. So..... I grab the puppy and proceed to take him into my bedroom to my hubby who is sitting in his man room doing NOTHING - screaming the whole time about how he shit on the floor. In the meantime the puppy was upset and started peeing all over me.
Are we having fun yet?
I shut the puppy in the room with him so I can clean up the mess. I round up the supplies: Resolve foam, plastic Walmart bag, whole roll of Bounty and gloves. As I clean this mess up, there becomes this uncontrollable anger welling up inside of me. As I finish up, all the nasty paper towels and piles of shit were in the Walmart bag, so I tied the handles together so I can throw this nasty bag outside in the trash without the neighbors cat having a field day in it.
But I never make it to the door.
Anger makes me detour into the bedroom.
It went a little something like this:
"YOU HAVE GOT TO START FUCKING HELPING ME. AFTER 10 YEARS YOU KNOW WHAT THE FUCK NEEDS TO BE DONE AROUND HERE. I AM NOT SUPERWOMAN. I CAN NOT DO IT ALL."
Hubbs eyes look like they are going to pop out of his head.
Then I look over and the puppy comes running at me wanting to play. Oh no....I shook the bag of shit at him and told him to get away from me. He didn't listen. So what do I do? I try to scare him a little, so I act like I am going to smack his butt with the plastic shit bag. THE FUCKING BAG EXPLODED AND SHIT FLEW EVERYWHERE. All over the dog, all over the wall, all over the carpet - again, all over my feet, just everywhere.
What do I do? Cry. I put my face in my hands and just sob. Now, the people that know me in real life know that I am not a cryer. I hide emotions really well. Hubbs, in udder shock that 1. I was crying and 2. that there was a shit-splosion in front of me. All he could do was rub my back and say "Don't worry about the shit honey, I will clean it up, just go get yourself together."
20 Minutes later when he come out of the room he said "Well I guess the shit hit the fan"
All I got to say is YA THINK?
But the puppy is getting big isn't he? And yes, I have since apologized to him and fed him treats and I give him a bath, yada yada yada......