Affliction to Poo

So I spoke with the bank's home loan person yesterday. The good news is that we're pre-approved to get a house in Denver. The bad news is the obvious in this market, we have to sell our house. It'll be tough to get what I have to get in order to avoid having to pay out-of-pocket expenses at the closing, but I'll have to. One thing we've decided to do, upon advice from EVERYONE, is to sell it ourselves. And, when you really think about it, what the hell do real-estate agents do anyway? They collect seven percent, that's what they do.

So, this weekend I plan on going to Lowe's, making a 'for sale by owner' sign, straightening up the house, cleaning up the flower beds in the back yard, and playing bachelor. Yep, A is out of town. Unfortunately her best friend's mother is sick, and A is there to give as much support as possible. Our prayers are with her.

You know, 'playing bachelor' sounds like fun, but nowadays all it means is that I have a lot more time to get bored, and I inevitably end up doing lots more work than normal. I guess for this weekend that's a good thing.

Funny story. I have this extreme dislike of dog poop. Well, any kind of poop really. When it comes to poop, I'm pretty much a wimp. Yeah sure, nobody likes poop. Nobody, likes to smell poop, nobody likes to clean poop up, nobody likes anything about poop really unless it is in your flower bed - and even then it's debatable. I really don't like it. It makes me sick and I involuntarily gag and sometimes straight up puke if I get a good whiff of it. At any rate, we are keeping our neighbor's dog this weekend, which happens to be a puppy. Like several times before, you know where I'm going with this by now. Put two and two together and you get a very bad situation for ol' me. A is out of town, and I have a pooping puppy in the house. She's pretty good about being potty-trained as long as you let her out every so often. So, today I get home and let her out of her crate. She goes straight to the yard and uses the bathroom. Sweet. Then she comes in, I feed her, and go in the back to change clothes. Yeah, you guessed it: I come back in the den and there's poop right there on the wood floor by the front door. I tried to man up and clean it before my gag reflexes kicked in. I went straight to the kitchen, put all the bad thoughts out of my mind, grabbed the paper towels and picked up the detestable clump. I dropped it in a plastic bag and went back for the second swipe. So far so good. I was managing to keep the smell away.

The second swipe smeared on the floor.

The gag reflex kicked in immediately. I quickly swiped up as much of the rest as possible, gagging the whole time. Walked over to the kitchen, dropped off the load - no pun intended - and went to the sink and did my thing. It was awful. The worst part was that I had to go back with some cleaning solution to finish the job. Same thing happened. Round two. Aaargh. I have no idea where this affliction to poo comes from, but it is terrible. I can't even handle a pungent cat box. Whoooo. Yeah yeah, laugh it up.

Time to think about something else.

Ok, I think my mind is off the poo.