Monday, February 25, 2013

Fishing Pole Bongs

It is disconcerting to realize just what has to happen in my life to make a big enough impact for me to change the way I do things.

What is even more disconcerting is the level of gross that is necessary to make this change.

Take for instance my unnatural love of shag carpet.  Most people that have any relations that were alive at all during the 70's will make fun of the shag.  But I have a love of ugly things, so I support the makers of this fine rug, and try to convince my husband how wonderful it would be to shag the house wall to wall.

Now lets pull a little gross into the picture.

Shag carpet might be easy to vacuum, but a deep clean is frustrating.  Every fiber will get coated in whatever gross happened to happen.

And now, let's bring in the elderly dog.  My poor girl is reverting to some puppy behavior.  She has started ripping up things that have been left out, paper, ribbon, trash... and no, we don't usually have trash being left around the house, this was just the door to the trash that had been left open.  She pulled the bag apart and scattered some of the refuse about the living room.  Not too bad to clean up.

But today she left me a bigger, smellier present.

This is the 2nd time this has happened, and I'm beginning to realize that as she gets older, it will happen more often.

So I'm done with the shag.  That level of gross gets all the way down to the roots.

At least I could locate that smell.  My car is another story.

I learned the hard way not to tailgate.  I'm not a habitual tailgater, but every now and again I creep up to close to the car ahead.  I actually got pulled over in Arizona for tailgating.  The cop walked up to my Madzaratti and asked if I thought I had been a bit too close to the truck in front.

I think he just wanted to bother the two girls in the out of state, sticker decorated, dirty hippie car.

He leaned in, and saw a lizard on my dash.  'That thing real?'  'Nope', I said as I thumped it on the steering wheel.  The cop then started looking through the car, and thought he found hippie arrest excuse gold.  'That a bong back there?'

At this point in the story, you have to know that I may have looked the part, but I was too naive to be a druggie.

I pulled out what he was talking about....  'You mean, this fishing pole?' It was the container for a collapsible pole.  He let me go then, without a ticket.

I really don't think that experience would have taught anyone a lesson.  Least of all, me.

You know what teaches lessons?  Running over dead things.

I was a bit too close to the car in front of me, who swerved slightly.  Being too close to see what he swerved to avoid, I had no choice but to re-run over a dead animal.

Picture a water balloon.  One that is not filled to the max.  One that can be squeezed a lot before it breaks.  Remember, as kids, stepping on the hairy edge of the balloon, then putting the heal of your other foot just in front of the first, and slowly rolling your entire foot over the balloon as the water is forces into a tiny bulging pocket at the end?  Then, like the freaky clown in a jack-in-the-box, popping when you least expect it!

That is how I picture this carcass.  Only the water was guts, and instead of getting my pants a bit wet, guts splattered the undercarriage of my car.  I am certain that a bit of meat is lodged in some cranny.

Having the stanch of death follow you around.  That's what teaches you not to tailgate.

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