Is there any better way to start your weekend than to touch dog sh#t with your bare hands? Seriously, Junebug. I kind of hate you right now.
I was just lying in bed, feeling super lucky that Maggie was sleeping so late (past 8:00! amazing). Then I felt something under the covers, near my feet. I just assumed it was a forgotten Lego or piece of cereal that some toddler of mine sneaked into my bed. So I kicked it up to where I could reach it and examined it in the dark. Huh? No clue. It can wait until there is more light.
I stayed in bed. Thinking to myself, how lucky am I? So much luxurious sleep. Wait, what is that? Something else by my feet. I kicked this mystery object up and grabbed it, like the last. But this was less round. Less mysterious. More dog-sh#t like. And it was in my hands. I was holding it. Like the last dog turd that I left on the edge of the bed.
What the heck, Junebug. You know better than that. We are not friends anymore.