What, Missy, please tell us, what is the gross part?
Ok, since you asked.
A couple of days later she was looking into her pool and saw what she believed to be a tarp, you know, the bright turquoise ones. But upon closer inspection, it wasn't a tarp.
It was a rock, LOBSTER!!!
(sorry, sorry, it's late. If you get that you are as old as I am.)
It wasn't a tarp. (Down, down, down.)
It was one of these.
There was a porta potty in her swimming pool.
Reminds me of a story I have heard regarding a girl I knew who was on a first date and emerged from a portacan with blue hands saying "Take me home now. Please. Now." because she had dropped her purse in there and had to fish it out.
Which brings me to another story. A personal story.
One that, due to the trauma it incurred, I have thus far told only a handful of people.
And yet I shall now share it with the invisible multitudes because that, that is the bizarre world of blogging.
Oh, many moons ago, pre marriage/family, some friends and I went on a singles ski trip with a certain mega-church in Houston, sometimes affectionately known as Six Flags over Jesus. We were coming back from where were we, Breckenridge? anyway it was at least an hour drive to the Denver airport. I had not had an especially fun time, due partly to the fact that many of the Six Flags girls weren't especially thrilled by the Presbyterian Threat (complete with gang signs, sistah. Just ask Shannon) and I had also nursed a raging sinus infection the entire trip. So I was a little grouchy already.
(Can you tell I just came back from Amy's? I am so serious, a night with girlfriends is like speed to me. I'll be up till 2am.)
So. On the bus. I have to go. Of course, considering my germophobia regarding all toilets public, I tried to avoid the death chamber, but alas. Denver was still an hour away, and I'd consumed a lot of Diet Coke.
They have one of those restrooms in the back of the bus that is basically a portocan and you can hear all the sloshing of all the...natural byproducts in the bottom of the "toilet." And this here one, it appeared not to have been emptied in a bit. The tide was high.
But it must be done.
So I brace myself.
I hover. And.
The bus hits a bump.
There. Top that.