Barfing Through The Snow

So I have this little problem with barfing.

If you share my problem, you won't want to read this post. Move on, sisters and brothers. Trust me. Turn the page.

It started during menopause. I don't know about anyone else, but I didn't get any of the normal menopausal stuff - no hot flashes, no nothing. My menopausal conditions were two: I had an overnight pubic hair transplant on my head (my once straight, thick tresses were exchanged for Brillo pads), and it became impossible for me to smell pretty much anything without barfing.

The hair issue is, I dare to hope, beginning to rectify itself.

Rectify. Uh-oh. Typing that word kinda made me want to barf. See? I told you.

I used to be a normal mom who could handle normal grossness. I once drove carpool  from Sherman Oaks to Northridge on the 405 freeway, in traffic,  with a warm cup of half-drunk coffee and half fresh kid vomit in my hand. Which - I assure you -  I did not order that way at Starbucks.

Anyway, I drove all the way to the kids' school holding the warm cup of Vomitcoffee. Never batted an eye. 

That was then. This is now.

Post menopause, I am but a tender shoot when it comes to my olfactory and barfactory systems. 

(I am warning you for the last time. This gets worse.)

A couple of winters ago, I was walking my dog in the snow. She chose to poop on the pristine snow-covered lawn of a neighbor. Right in front of their enormous living room window. Behind which was their Christmas tree. And around which was the entire family. Fuck.

I had to deal with it. Usually, I would have made some elaborate pantomime of picking up the poop while actually scooping a handful of leaves into the plastic bag. I'm not proud that I do this; I honestly cannot get near dog poop without...you know. I am certain that I will have to answer to this transgression at the Pearly Gates. And St. Peter will send me to live in close quarters with people who have very bad B.O. as my punishment. And I will hope to God that Dr. Kavorkian is down there with me so I can hire him to kill me.

Anyway, so there I am on the snow-covered lawn of my neighbor while they celebrate the birth of their Lord by witnessing my Dog hanging a humongous poop. I just stood there, huddled in my long, hooded, down coat, watching my dog as she squatted and pushed. Like I was performing some twisted re-enactment guerilla theater of Christmas starring my dog as The Virgin Mary. 

It was an extremely stinky poop. I would have killed for a hit of frankincense. I would have stuck that burning stick of incense right up my nose.

There was no pantomime faking cleaning up this poop. The lawn was very white and the poop was very brown. It was almost a holy contrast. I snuck a look up to the window. The family was transfixed, glued to the scene. Surely, this was not the Christmas play the children had rehearsed at church.

I had a short conversation with God in which I promised to never ever ever do anything bad again if only She would make that poop disappear without my having to deal with it. Or, barring that option, at least make the family disappear for five minutes so I could kick some snow over the poop.

God rolled Her eyes at me and took two Advil. I am a lot of work for the Forces of Good.

I took a deep breath of clear air, held it in, and scooped the poop into the bag.

I held up the bag and smiled weakly at the family in the window, conveying my apologies. They nodded.

And then.

And then I barfed. All over their lawn. I barfed liked I had never barfed before. I fell to my knees barfing. Moaning. Like I was Mary with very bad back labor. And when I was done barfing, I dry-heaved for, like, fifteen minutes.

They just watched me. I think. I didn't dare look up at them. For all I know, I could have started a chain-reaction barfapalooza in their house. On Christmas morning. Around their tree.

Oy. No wonder everyone hates the Jews.

Shaking, I stumbled to my feet and lurched my way home. 

In the still of the dark night, as I walked the quiet streets, all the creatures of my 'hood, great and small - dogs and chickens and frogs and goldfish in their bowls - called to eachother about the event.

The neighbors moved away in the spring.

 

 

Comments

[Brain]

ROFLMFAO, with you, not at you. This one is priceless!

[madgew]

Lol. At least you list weight that day. Get Robin to go with you for poop duty.