Here, have another snapshot into my thrilling life: I run errands every now and again. I know, I know... Too much excitement and I might lose touch with reality, but I'm willing to take that chance.
Still. Yesterday, I did just that. Run errands, I mean... You thought you were going to get me there, didn't you. Nice try.
Now, I don't know if you're aware of this (although... who isn't?) but Paris has this major problem, namely - and not to put too fine a point to it - dog turds.
Sometimes it gets to the point where I don't feel guilty that I'm not practising any sports, because honestly, avoiding our canine best friends' offerings on the pavements can quickly resemble one hell of a slalom course.
And it almost goes without saying that it has been known to trigger many a killing impulse in me. Seriously, what else did you expect? There are some memories that I don't really want to have to stir, but take my word for it, some of those impulses were amply justified.
So yesterday, as I was sauntering none too happily from one smelly present to the other, I saw a little old lady walking her four-legged companion. And I got really excited, in joyful anticipation of the bollocking I was going to give her when she simply left the clear and present danger to hip bones everywhere just lying around, threatening every living, intelligent presence in a 500-meter radius.
Already imagining how I was going to rub her face in it - figuratively, come on -, I gleefully slowed down to a very dignified pace (yes, it's possible when you live in my world, shut up.), hoping she would slink away from the crime scene so that I could POUNCE!
We both waited for her leggy sausage to finish its business. When it had, she got a plastic bag from her purse, and picked it up.
Honestly. The cheek.
Nothing is working out as planned these days.