Sometimes, shit even happens in a mini-van.
While you’re driving on a freeway.
Volunteering time you don’t really have.
Transporting a dog from a shelter to an adoption event.
In a flimsy and damn near broken crate.
… >pause to compose myself< …
And when the shit does happen?
The dog that made the stinky mess?
He might just get even more freaked out by the transportation process.
And do a somersault inside the crappy crate.
Flinging poo not only all over the inside of said crate. But all over himself. Causing it to ooze out. Into the carpet of the car being (ab)used.
… >sigh< …
AND? When the crate flips over in the dog’s panic?
It might even break open.
Releasing a shit-covered-dog-in-a-frenzy.
To run frantically inside your minivan, looking for a way out.
As you slam on your breaks. And jump the hell OUT of your almost-still-moving-vehicle.
While he continues to spread the mess from inside the crate.
To the upholstery. To the walls. To the windows. To the seats (car seats of your kids not to be excluded). To your purse. To your steering wheel.
I still don’t know how it got in my hair.
… >shudder< …
It’s apparently a joke best played by God (or whomever the higher power was that did that to me .. and my minivan .. yesterday)
When you are already running late.
To meet someone about a potential job opportunity.
… !!! …
I still have no idea how I made it home.
Blow-dried my hair.
Found new, non-shit-covered-clothes.
And made it to my meeting.
With 10 minutes to spare.
But next time? I’m not even going to ask. I’m bringing my best, most secure, non-break-out-able crate to make a transfer.
If I miss a call from you today? It’s because I’m getting the shit out of my car. Please leave a message. I’ll call you back after I wash my hands.