It's blisteringly cold here in New Jersey. I would gladly stay inside with my PJs on drinking hot cocoa but the dogs need to go outside. The last two days of walking them (impressed by how long I've gone in this entry without calling them the Siblings Jerkface?) have been horrible. Man gloves are not made to open poop bags. It's impossible and it's more of a pain to take off the glove, open the bag, pick up the excrement, tie the bag, and put the glove back on than it is to go bare-handed. This leads me to my troubling realization.
It's so cold out that I'm fine with picking up the poop. It's warm and provides my hand with temporary relief from the outside temperatures. I was disgusted when I put this together. I remember the day we got the dogs and how I didn't want to pick up their crap. I would walk behind them chanting, "No poop. No poop. No poop. No poop." Notice how I didn't say internally chanting. I was saying it out loud as I walked them. Do you see what these jerkfaces (almost made it) are doing to me? Didn't want to go near poop to needing it in my hands in a little over a year?!?
I can't wait to go to Vegas next week. It's going to be a fecal-freecation. I'm not even going near the pool because the word is too close.