This morning as I make my way out of North Station and on to the sidewalk, I feel something squishy under my shoe. I cringe and think to myself “How could I have stepped in dog sh*t twice in one day?” (I had stepped in my neighbor’s dog sh*t on the sidewalk earlier this morning on my walk with my dog. Luckily it was the beginning of our walk so I could smear it off in various grassy spots. Quick note to husband: Don’t worry Hunny, it was all gone before I entered the house and I didn’t track it in the house on to our precious hard wood floors.) I lift my foot to look at the damage and to my grotesque surprise, I did not step in dog sh*t, I stepped on a dead, bloody mouse. My winter white ballet flat was smeared with mouse guts.
I try my best not to gag and am not sure what to do. There is no grassy spot to wipe my foot on. There are no puddles nearby. Gag! Gag! Gag!
I tell myself not to think about it. I have a mile ahead of me to get this little sucker off my shoe. I start by limping but quickly tell myself that there is nothing wrong with my foot and I just look like an idiot so I straighten up and walked normal.
A mile later, this little guy is gone but I still know he was there. When I get to my office, I take one of those double sided, gritty Lysol wipes to the bottom of both shoes to be on the safe side. I tuck my flats under my desk and switch to my non-mouse-gut office stiletto’s that have only touched the outside world once because I had to do twist and shout dance moves on the sidewalk to scuff up the bottom so I wouldn’t fall flat on my face on the carpet in the office.
Oh the joys of commuting in the city!