I live in a house with big windows. I have no neighbors in the back, only woods. Privacy, you know? Not having neighbors means not having curtains. I like that.
So this morning, after reading through my blog roll, having my Skype call with CGMan, and emailing my friends who have jobs, I was puttering around in my kitchen. And by puttering around, I mean dancing to Rescue Me. I mean, who can resist turning that bad boy up full blast and dancing around the kitchen in a powder blue chenille robe?
So I’m winding down, still wiggling my butt, loading the dishwasher when something in the backyard catches my eye. A stranger!
Not to worry, it’s just the pooper scooper (yes- there really is a company that will scoop the poop!). Did he see me? He looks to be diligently searching for soggy mounds of poop (did I mention it’s rainy today). It’s hard to tell if its concentration on the poop or an intense effort not to crack up laughing. Then I shrug my shoulders and get back to shakin it, cuz it’s Rescue Me, take me in your arms, cuz I’m lonley …..mmmmHHHHmmmm
You might wonder why I’m not more embarrassed. Well, this isn’t the first time I’ve had an “encounter” with the pooper scooper. There was an incident a few months ago, where I was in the privacy of my own bathroom, sitting on the floor, painting my toenails. Naked. What!? I can’t paint my toenails naked? It’s not like I vacuum naked or anything! (contrary to the insistence of CGMan that most women do, in fact, vacuum naked)
Once I was up and dressed, I crossed into the living room and that’s when I saw him - the pooper scooper. His head was down, searching for the poop. I was like OMGawd! He saw me naked! I literally blushed from head to toe. What should I do? Run out there and confront him? What if he didn’t really see me? What if I brought to his attention that he missed an opportunity to see me naked? Then I’d have all the pooper picker uppers peeping in my window! So I just kept my eye on him, I watched to see if he made any furtive glances to the bedroom window, hoping to catch another peek of the wobbly bits. Either he didn’t see my wobbly bits or he wasn’t impressed, because he didn’t even look up. He was very busy doing his job. I can only conclude that the pooper scooper service must hire only the most conscientious of scoopers. For that, I am grateful.
However, I did notice that I have not seen him since. Did I scare him off? After today’s exhibition, I’m really worried now that I’ll get a letter from the scooper service:
Times are tough. It’s hard to find just the right caliber of person to scoop the poop of our distinguished clients. And by definition, distinguished doesn’t mean the likes of Britney Spears. So please keep your clothes on. And stop dancing like you’re headed for Dancing with the Stars, you’re scaring off our employees.
The Scoopers of Poop
Don’t quit me! I need you to scoop the poop. I have no more
slaves children at home to do my dirty work.