Thursday, December 31, 2015

One fifty minutes out and I trod in shit

I have this tremendous ability to be bare-footed then find shit to step in. In this case chicken shit as encountered somewhere between the shed and the laundry door. It clung to my flat foot with tenacity and required hand wash soap, scrubbing, rinsing and repeating. And being of reduced mobility with flat feet, dodgy knees and hip, I'm always at risk of falling. I had to brace myself with the mobility bar set deep into the shower wall and find a position my stable foot could be in without slipping as I both lathered then checked. It was not easy. I pity my future AI-empowered exoskeleton butler that will me assisting me in the future (that's another freebie for your ideas bin, Google).

After I cleaned up I looked on the path to the shit for where the shit had been but I can't find it. It must have clung to my foot with determination once I trod in it and rode me all the way to the drain.

There's around 150 minutes left of 2015. How typical, how utterly typical, with but a hand-span of hours to go my year ends with me stepping in shit. 

But then I wouldn't be Mikey if I wasn't always stepping in something.


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