Seriously.

So, y’all know Dooce, right? She’s pretty famous on the InterWebs, cause she’s funny and has cute dogs. Probably also for other reasons related to good writing, but I’m sticking with the dogs.

So a few days ago she wrote a post about poopy puppy paw prints on her carpet, and how she was almost killed by the stench. I understand this.

This afternoon at work I start to notice a certain unpleasant aroma around my work space. I am concerned because 1, I have been known for forgetting to bathe and 2, am frequently gassy. So I sniff around, and there aren’t any old coffee cups with fungal gardens growing in them, or banana peels just lying casually about. I sniff myself. Not too bad, actually. A combo of Philosophy’s Amazing Grace and Vera Wang Princess. I smell all nice and girly. Perhaps vaguely of gum and coffee, but I’m certainly not shitty smelling.

I continue my search, sniffing all the nearby offices, but I can’t find anything. I notice that the smell is worse when I’m sitting down. JUH?!?!

Then I look at my shoes. My right shoe has about 2 inches of tightly packed dog shit caked to the sole. LOVELY.

Oh that this were the first time this has happened to me.

A few weeks ago I was watching something on the TiVo when I had the same thing happen. Something smelled poopy. I walked the 9 steps it takes to cross my apartment, but found no unwanted messes from Tonks (who, I might add, was watching me sniff the ground with MUCH amusement). Maybe she’d just farted? It happens.

But the smell WON’T GO AWAY. It’s everywhere. I turn on all the lights and realize there are some slight brown stains on the carpet. On the floor in the kitchen. And they’re coming from MY. FEET. I had managed to step in it, literally, the last time I had taken the dog out and then proceeded to track it all over my carpet.

Don’t think I was mature enough to NOT blame the dog, either. I’m sure she steered me into the poop on purpose, just to see if I would notice.

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