Since the explosion of the Internet into our everyday lives, inspirational quotes have never known such popularity.
Mind you, we’ve always loved pithy quotes,and our everyday dialect is littered with examples:
‘Fight fire with fire’, ‘green-eyed monster’ and ‘good riddance’ are just three examples of Shakespeare quotes that we drop on a daily.
But search “inspirational quotes” on google and almost 56 million hits appear. Can you believe it?
That’s more hits than ‘Scuba-diving” and ‘Orange is the New Black” get combined.
Mind you, a search for “I’m all about the Bass” gets a whopping 106 million results…I mean, seriously.
But, we’re getting off topic.
My point is, there are quotes for everything.
There are cute quotes:
There are motivational quotes:
There are funny quotes:
OK. You get it. There’s a quote to match every mood. Some people love these little quotes. Some people find them irritating, corny and cheesy as fuck. So I’ll fess up. I love all these quotes. And my house is littered with them. So if that makes me corny and cheesy as fuck, so be it. They cheer me up, make me smile and remind me not to take shit too seriously.
One of the quotes that I have, that I like, is this:
Cos pretty much, that’s true. I don’t have a fancy house, or a smancy car, but I do have a beautiful family and wonderful friends and sharing laughter with them really is the best fucking thing in the world.
So it kinda took me by surprise yesterday when I got rather sentimental about a possession.
“Well what was it?” Ask my three curious readers!
As you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you.
It was our couch. The fourteen year old, falling apart, all holes, no arse, barely any pattern left, couch. It should have made its journey to the pearly gates of the local dump ages ago. But I have been defering the inevitable for ages.
It was an eyesore, it smelled like the dogs and frankly, people looked at it strangely when they saw it without its throw-cover (think Patsy from ‘Ab-fab’ if you caught her in the morning, without make-up.)
But the truth is, as tatty as that couch was, it had come to mean more than it’s shabby appearance.
It was the first piece of furniture we got when we arrived in B.C.
When it finally arrived in our apartment, we let out whoops of joy. We had been living in Vancouver, for two months, without a stick of furniture.
So when it was delivered, it was the ONLY piece of furniture, in our sea-side apartment. It seemed to sit proudly, like a throne in a royal castle.
So much has happened on its comfy cushions: it was a sofa bed; countless visitors from all corners of the globe, have slept in it (and with a bit of luck, got up to rudies in it.)
It’s where my husband and I cuddled, late at night, after a busy day, watching movies and inhaling far-too-large bowls of ice-cream.
It’s where I nursed my children as babies and lay snuggled up with them on exhausted, but blissful afternoons.
It’s where I skived off and cozied up with the cat…and the dog…and the dog.
It’s where I slept off hangovers. It’s where I – OK, just like the never-ending supply of inspirational quotes, this could take a while.
But my point is this; that couch held many stories of our B.C adventure. It may just be a thing, but it’s enhanced our life and I’m grateful. There was an article in the UK newspaper the ‘Guardian’ a few weeks ago and it said that when you felt sad at giving away possessions, you should thank the item for its service and send it on its way.
So thanks for all the memories, couch. You were a legend amongst sofas.
The couch made it’s pilgrimage to the Dump today. It left, without me knowing, whilst I was taking the kids to school. Now I know how Sally Hawkins felt in the film ‘Happy-Go-Lucky’ when her bike got nicked and she said “Awww. I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.”
RIP couch. One things for sure: you embodied this quote Hunter S. Thompson quote:
Are you any good at Maths? Do you like solving problems? Well, I’ve got one for you:
I have two dogs. They each take a shit, twice a day. If I haven’t bothered to go into the back yard for a month, to scoop the poop, how much crap is there?
Answer: If you said shitloads, give yourself a pat on the back.
So now my sordid secret is out in the open, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. After all the Christmas high jinks, today I finally found the time to get in the yard and shovel. To be fair, the weather has been fucking awful and I’ve had a houseful of visitors, so I haven’t felt like picking up crap. So I left it until today. Actually, if I’m honest, what forced me outside was reading a Facebook post that annoyed the shit out of me. My inwardly seething thought bubble went something like this “My life is too short for this shit. Ah shit…shit… time to pick some up” or something like that.
Anyway, whilst shovelling shit, I ruminated that if a Facebook post about forged dick pics is not over sharing, then surely, a status update saying I was picking up dog shit would be perfectly reasonable.
Then I decided, fuck that shit! That’s not good enough. Because, actually, picking up shit is boring as shit.
So I thought: Let’s make this shit a bit more interesting.
Are You keeping us with me talking shit so far? Good.
Anyway I turned the poop scooping into a game. A positive into a negative. How very Mary fucking Poppins of me:
So if like me, you are a lazy fucker when it comes to poop scooping, perhaps you might appreciate the following game.
Think of it as a fresh take on beer pong. Only with less pong. Actually, strike that. With MORE pong…it is dog shit you’re shovelling after all.
Rules of Shit and Scoop
Tools required for the game:
1. A shovel.
2. Some dog shit
3. Alcoholic beverage of your choice
1. For every turd scooped whole: take one large sip of your drink.
2. For every shit trod in by accident, shout “holy shit” in an angry voice and take two large sips of your drink.
3. For every item that your dog has chewed up and shat out that you can still recognize, take three large sips of your drink.
4. If your dog has managed to shit out an entire string of pearls unscathed: open a bottle of champagne.
There you have it. Poop scooping has never been so fun. You’re welcome.
* Just to be clear: save up the drinking until after all the shit has been scooped and you have washed your hands…we’re not fucking barbarians, after all.