I've always blown Friday the 13th way off. I'm way too tough to buy into that superstitious krap. Until now.
If you follow this blog even a little, you will know that I bike down to the park with my dog on almost a daily basis. Today was no different. Except that it was.
We're good park citizens and we clean up after ourselves. Tonight we got there way after dark, which is not a problem in the cleanup department, 'cause I can spot my dog pinching a loaf in the moonlight, which I did tonight. I carry a headlamp and normally I eagle-eye the spot and walk towards it and never take my eyes off it til I get there.
On this one day though, I got distracted for just a minute. I still found the pile, I just found it with my foot. I don't like to be so totally out of control, but I have never been so screaming pissed in my entire life. I lost it. In the park.
Thing is, on this one particular night, I'd decided to wear my house sandals to the park. No amount of scraping your foot in the grass can get the poop out of the grooves. I'm faced with pressure-washing and all kinds of disinfection.
You can obviously see how bad things got today. I now think the terror surrounding Friday the 13th is real and justified, but you can draw your own conclusions. Just don't ask me to bail you out when things go sideways. All I can tell you for sure is that I'm now a believer and that next time around, I'll be hunkered down, with my shades drawn, living on cheese sandwiches, waiting for Saturday the 14th.