Earlier it was wild, now it's just gross; I just collected my own poop.

The county health guy comes to my door with this Hefty bag package and proceeds to accidentally drop it on my doorstep as I sign for it. He freaks out. I tell him to relax because I haven't put anything in it yet and he laughs. I say he must get a lot of jokes and he says yes. So I unwrap my very special poop kit, provided by...my taxes!

1. One white plastic spoon.
2. One upside-down hat thingy to put over the toilet to poop into.
3. One ziploc bag marked "biohazard."
4. One clear plastic cup with white lid with my name and real birthdate on it.
5. Instructions on how to do what I need to do with my...doo.

So I did it. I was looking online for birthday gifts for my dad and that triggered my colon to mooooove. I ran to my bathroom and the kit, squealing in terror as I had to get down and dirty, scooping my poop into a cup with a white spoon. NOT FUN. Squealing attracted the gross boyfriend (men never grow out of 7-year-old poop-fascination stage) who threatened to let my busy body cat into the bathroom. So, mid-process, I had to lock both bathroom doors. The drama!

With directions followed and poop safely sealed in the biohazard bag, I emerged from the bathroom with a "HIDEY HO!" Because Mr. Hanky is here!