Walking to the subway station this morning, I happened to look down at my leg for some reason or another, and was struck with a vision of disgusting proportions.
It appeared that I stepped in some dog doo doo, and it splashed up onto my calf.
"Arrllllghghekkkraackkkkeegooooo" I started to make wretching, vomity sounds.
Beehive took one look at where I was pointing, laughed hysterically, and said "We'd better get you home." He steered me back to his apartment, where I ran in shame and disgust, and cleaned myself up.
What appeared to be dog poop initially was nothing of the sort. In fact, I'm really not even sure what the hell it was. It was sort of mucus-like, almost like slug slime. In fact, I'm kind of thinking it was slug slime. Especially since I had no trace of dog shit anywhere on my flip flops or anywhere else on myself.
Oh God. I got slimed by a slug.
Cut to later this afternoon. My blogging boyfriend asked, "So, did you write about what happened this morning yet?"
"No. Did you want it?"
"Hell yea. If you don't want it, I'll take it!" he seemed to think this event was completely and utterly blogworthy.
I love the fact that we are now negotiating who gets to write what in our blogs.