With a Hint of Salsa

I ran to the grocery store on my lunch break today. I am expecting company for dinner and thought I’d save time by picking up all the ingredients this afternoon. I swing by my house to stick the groceries in the fridge and let out the dog I am sitting. I head to the front door and one of the plastic bags begins to tear. And why is it, that when a grocery bag tears, the only item that hits the ground is the one in a glass jar? You got it. I am now sporting my nice black strappy sandals with a hint of thick and chunky salsa. Not only did it break splattering salsa all over my shoe and between my toes, but it managed to cut my leg as well. Go figure.

So, I go in and eat lunch sitting on the couch and I keep getting a whiff of something awful. I figure the dog has made a mess and begin checking all around for it. But I don’t find anything. Finally, when she is sitting next to me on the couch I figure it out. The dog is farting. Silent farts, but most definitely deadly farts.

So, I get back to my office and a co-worker is working on my computer for a bit. My office phone rings and its my mother, so I answer anyway. The following conversation occurs… and bear in mind my co-worker can only here one end of it.

Mom: Are you busy?
Me: No, I just got back from lunch.
Mom: So, how is Pookie [dog] doing?
Me: She’s good but I think her stomach is upset.
Mom: Oh no, did she poop on your floor?
Me: No, but she smells really bad!

{{co-worker looks at me with her mouth hanging open}}

Me: A dog, not a person.
Co-Worker: Good, cause I was going to say I wouldn’t want to be your friend.

I seriously think at first she thought I was talking about her. Nice.