One thing that is as certain as death and taxes in our house is that when we go for a walk, Bunny is going to poop in the park. It’s just one of those facts of life that we have to deal with. At least in the park, there are nearby garbage cans, so we can toss it pretty quickly. Since I know that we’re always going to need at least one bag when we go for our walk, I have a small bag actually made for that rather unpleasant business that looks like a purse and has a spot for carrying unwanted deposits, should the need arise. I make sure that I always have a roll of bags in there so that way I can just grab it on our way out the door and know that I have everything in there that we might need.
Now my husband has a few threads of chivalry left in him, even after double digit years of being married. If we’re out walking together and a poop bag is required, he always picks it up. Even if I stop and am going to pick it up, he’ll come over and take care of it. That’s the kind of guy he is. Perhaps he’s also afraid to trust me walking behind him with a full bag. I’m not sure why that would be, though.
The other night, we were out walking and a bag was needed. So, I pulled the roll out of my bag and tore one off for him. As I handed him the bag, I realized that there was only one bag left along with that little black plastic tube that the wrap them around. I opened the last bag, threw the little plastic spool inside and after the deposit was thrown in the garbage can, we were off on our way.
The next evening, we braved the cold again to get our exercise in. Sure enough, the princess left her mark open the world right after we passed the basketball courts. I pulled out the last pink poop bag and handed it over, not really thinking about the little spool left inside.
Mr. Taleteller: What the — ?
My husband was looking at the bag with a mixture of horror, curiosity and disgust. He then looked over at me. Suddenly, it dawned on me and I started to laugh.
Me: That’s the last bag! I put the spool inside it last night.
A look of great relief washed over my husband’s face. I felt a little indignant, but I couldn’t help laughing.
Me: Did you think I kept a petrified turd in there or something?
Mr. Taleteller: I wouldn’t put it past you!
Me: You honestly thought that I’d save a turd overnight, in my bag, just so I could hand it to you a day later?
Mr. Taleteller: Well, yes!
Me: Gee, thank you for your high opinion of me!
Mr. Taleteller: I still think it’s something you would do.
Me: Well, if it didn’t mean I had to actually save a dog turd in my bag over night, maybe…
At that point, I decided that perhaps it was better to just let it go and leave him wondering. I mean, obviously there was no reasoning with him, so I ought to just let him think what he will. Besides, now I will always have him wondering about it in the back of his mind. I guess I won’t be getting nominated for wife of the year, but I will be laughing when he looks at every pink poop bag with a look of suspicion.
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