Today's My Side is dedicated to the foul and gross. Here's to you! (clink!)
So, this morning I was at the gym again, as I am most mornings. As I went to the sit-up/cruncher bench, I realized, to my dismay, that I really had to fart. But you don't do that in a gym. There are other people around. They'll know where it came from.
But you can probably understand that doing sit-ups puts pressure on your stomach muscles. It squeezes things….. Out.
And so, I crunched.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
(Uh oh. I really need to…)
Six. Seven Eight. Nine.
(You'd better stop this, son…)
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
(Pressure building. Can't hold it back…)
Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
(This is gonna be loud. Seriously. Cut it out or I'm cutting it!)
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
(Control! Must have control!)
After 120 sit-ups, I got up. I finished my workout. I went outside into the empty parking lot.
Boy, did it echo.
Now, to Suki…
Suki is my dog, through Vicky, and like most dogs she feels compelled to eat most things we wouldn't.
Cat shit, for example. She loves the taste of cat shit. The texture. The bouquet. I don't know what it is about it but she just loves it. (Vicky calls it "Almost Rocha"…. Totally ruining almond rocha for the rest of my life. To think, I used to love it.)
A couple of weeks ago, when Tim was visiting, he told us that cat shit is composed mostly of protein.
… Hmmm… Protein.
And I suddenly realized that Vicky and I could save a heck of a lot of time and money. It would work like this:
a) Cats eat cat food.
b) Cats poop.
c) Suki eats poop.
d) Cat box is cleaned.
e) EVERYBODY IS HAPPY!
But Vicky doesn't want Suki to eat the poop. Vicky is the wrench in so many of my great plans.
And, of course, I can't close this without making one more scatological statement: George Bush.