"Miss Martha, you are so weird!" "I know . . . isn't it wonderful!?"

Poop in a jar?!  Oh, no . . . that would be too easy. Poop into a freezer bag, held carefully against my butt, so as to not pee into it or dunk it into the toilet.  THEN using the microcropic sporks (I shit you not, no pun intended) built into the lids, like the wands in wedding bubbles (how delicate and loverly a comparison), of the three tiny (TINY) jars, I scoop out several samples, trying not to brush the edge of the bag against my arm . . . because, in my haste to finish this stimulating project, I got poo on the zipper seal part of the bag.  THEN, try to close the bag, using toilet paper, but getting shit on your fingers nevertheless . . . then put it into the waste basket . . . all the while gagging because, not only do I have sick dog-shit smelling poop lately, but I didn’t have the buffer of the potty water to dampen the overwhelming stench.  SO, I shower with a candle burning in the bathroom . . . because THE ONE TIME I was going to use the airfreshener . . . it’s out.
So, by the time I’m dressed enough to take the garbage (READ: BAG OF SHIT) to the dumpster, the whole apartment reaks, not only of Kenny’s morning farts, which are enough to gag a cow by themselves, but of A BAG OF SHIT marinating in the bathroom.
Add to this that’s it’s too chilly to open the windows and door to air the place out.  So, I leave a note for Kenny and a paper bag marked “THIS IS NOT LUNCH” on the table for him to lovingly transport to LabCorp, which he did.  Now that’s love.  🙂
OOOh, did I mention that the freezer bag got steamed up?  Because it did.  So, I had a steaming pile of poo this morning . . . that I had to have in my hand.  Not directly, mind you . . . but it may as well have been. I felt the heat, and breathed the stench.
You may now thank me for sharing.  🙂

Love you,

M

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