I woke up one morning last week to the beautiful view outside my sliding glass door.
Ah... there's the lake, with the pretty fountain; and there's my bird feeder, with all the pretty cardinals, blue jays, doves, crows, squirrels, the mouse, the duck, and, wait, what is THAT?
It looks like a... um... a Publix bag? Maybe. Closer look: Yup, it's a Publix bag. But why is all knotted and twisted. Oh. Ohhh. Ew. It's a bagged turd!
Someone has had the audacity to toss their turd into my fabulous view!
Now what. It's not like I'm going to go get it. Hell to dah nah I'm not touching someone else's pooch poop. So I wait a couple days. Maybe maintenance will come get it. That's why I pay so much rent, right?
Couple days later, I'm about to name my new turd. Apparently, he's not going anywhere.
Couple more days... Good morning, turd!
Today: Enough! By now it's been festering long enough. I get a garbage bag. I wrap my hands in other bags. I prepare to face the turd.
And I did it! Turd be gone. And to whoever felt like my bushes are a turd dumping ground, don't do it again!!!
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