Fatale Abstraction

(This story is for the Starbucks-phobic Big Dick. Hope your dad is doing well.)

About 3 years ago I was visiting my dearest friends Dianne and Kim in Edmonds near Seattle, and we were on our way to the Fluevog store, which is Mecca for phlegmmy. I have a shoe thing going on, if you haven't noticed. But not just any shoe will do. I like wild color combinations and not-the-usual-shoe everyone else is wearing, and Fluevog caters to my footwear needs in spades. I was wearing a sensible lace-up pair of wingtip 'vogs that day (black and burgundy) with the above-pictured sole. Anyway, that morning was cold and wet, and I hurried across a tiny bit of lawn to the car.

We stopped at Starbucks and there was a bit of a line, so I went to the bathroom. The women's room had an out-of-order sign, so I made free to visit the Gents'. Finished with my ablutions, I turned to leave the restroom and was aghast to see a rather sizeable turd crouched like a small bunny on the floor near the door. Lots of things went through my mind, but having just cleaned my hands, I wasn't about to touch someone else's poop. I went to the counter and Kim and my friend Mary (from Portland) were just finishing their orders. I announced to the counter clerks "There is something disturbing on the floor of your men's room." They asked me to repeat that, so I got a little more downhome and went Hee Haw on they ass. "Y'all have something disgusting on the floor of your men's room." They looked troubled, wondering who this strange creature was and what plot was afoot. Kimmer and Mary were giggling and demanding more information. I explained there was poop on the floor and I knew not from whence it came. This created something of a stir with the employees, unaccustomed as they were to crass Southerners. We giggled a bit, got our overpriced beverages and headed back to the vehicle.

I was wearing a coat, and decided to put my drink on the floorboard of the car before I climbed in and buckled up, and lo and behold if there wasn't a companion bit of turdage lying in wait on the floorboard. Apparently I had stepped in the crap on the lawn, and the super-grippy grooves of my vogs had taken on a passenger who held on for dear life until meeting with the abject splendor of the Starbucks men's room. I started laughing so hard I couldn't stop to tell my companions what had tickled me so. When I finally calmed down enough to explain that in fact I had brought the offending turd into Starbucks, we all roared with laughter. There were tears. It was so damned funny. I opted not to go inform the hapless 'buck-a-roos of what really happened. They probably already thought I put the crap there intentionally. Why disappoint them? And hell no, after paying $5 for a coffee, yeah, they can clean up a bit of dog crap for me!