Thank Goodness for a Bag of Poop

I'm serious. A bag of shit saved my life yesterday.

So there I was, walking Ranger through the park, as usual.  As usual it had been raining so the park was soggy and wet, even though the sun was trying valiantly to peek through the scattered clouds.  Not as usual, however, was a troupe of people filming what looked like a music video.  It was a girl band and as usual they all looked like they were 12 years old.

I don't get it.  All the girl bands here have at least five members and they're always trying to be sexy by wearing school uniforms or something equally pubescent.  There's one video where the theme is what girls do at bed time behind closed doors. As you might imagine they're all wearing frilly lingerie and practicing chaste kissing on each other.  My favorite segment is when they're dolled up in (dolled up is exactly the right expression here) kitty/french maid outfits and feeding each other sweets.  Hello kitty!  As if!
I'm not even exaggerating; take a look for yourself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkHlnWFnA0c&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL

But I digress.

At the time Ranger and I passed, they were filming one girl, singing to camera, while six other equally nubile girls looked on and lip synched the words while doing a dance routine.

You don't see that in the park everyday.

I was musing about this as I descended some stairs and suddenly slipped.  My feet just came out from under me and I started to fall back onto the muddy steps.  I was holding Ranger's leash with my left hand and two bags of fresh, still warm, dog crap with the right hand.  Ranger promptly took off, tail tucked between his legs.  Thank God for the poop, it broke my fall.  I might of had a broken wrist if it hadn't been for the warm cushioning of the shit bags.  I was even more thankful the bags didn't burst.  I was already covered in mud from mid back to mid thigh.

Of course my first thought was, "Oh shit, Ranger's going to attack that park attendant in front of us."  But Ranger was too concerned for his own safety.  Traitor.  Although he did come racing back, ears laid low, all concerned kisses and earnest wagging.  "Mommy, are you ok?  Are you hurt? Do I still get my treats?"

Which is more than I can say for the park attendant.  He just looked at me, sprawled on the steps, and kept walking.  Maybe he was allowing me to "save face."  Yeah, that's it.

To add insult to injury a mosquito bit me on the ear too.

As we were only half way through the walk I had to shuffle, covered in mud and shame, the rest of the way home, past the sidewalk coffee shop where all the ex-pats sit outside and relish their cigarettes, itching my ear and hoping they won't think I shit my pants.