A few days ago, as I was sitting on my happy butt at home watching some variety of televised nonsense, I looked out the window and saw The Guy Whose Dog Craps on Neighborhood Lawns standing in our yard. True to form, his dog was taking a gigantic dump on the grass next to our house. This is not an unusual occurrence in a neighborhood full of dog-owning people, but everyone else carries little poopscooping baggies with them so that they can remove the dog turds and deposit them into the trash can. This guy, on the other hand, is a notorious canine shit-and-runner. I've seen him do it numerous times, but since I am normally one to look the other way and just bitch about it to myself I've always chalked it up to his being an inconsiderate asshole and let it go.
But on that particular day, for whatever reason, I was not content to let it go. I stood up on the sofa, banged on the screen, and screeched out the window that I didn't appreciate the fact he didn't clean up after his prodigiously shitting dog. He looked at me, smirked, and started walking off. Undeterred, I ran out the front door, stood on the porch, and informed him -- finger waggling all the while -- that I thought he sucked. Never let it be said that I am not creative with the criticisms, people. Sure, he was laughing as he walked away from the crazy bitch yelling at him from her porch, but we all know that he was sick with guilt on the inside.
I felt better after my little outburst. There was couch-standing, screen-banging, and porch-shouting. I imagine half the block heard the screaming harpy carrying on about dog shit, grass, and the pursuant decline of polite society.
I do believe my transformation into Boo Radley is all but complete.
But on that particular day, for whatever reason, I was not content to let it go. I stood up on the sofa, banged on the screen, and screeched out the window that I didn't appreciate the fact he didn't clean up after his prodigiously shitting dog. He looked at me, smirked, and started walking off. Undeterred, I ran out the front door, stood on the porch, and informed him -- finger waggling all the while -- that I thought he sucked. Never let it be said that I am not creative with the criticisms, people. Sure, he was laughing as he walked away from the crazy bitch yelling at him from her porch, but we all know that he was sick with guilt on the inside.
I felt better after my little outburst. There was couch-standing, screen-banging, and porch-shouting. I imagine half the block heard the screaming harpy carrying on about dog shit, grass, and the pursuant decline of polite society.
I do believe my transformation into Boo Radley is all but complete.
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