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Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Pool Closed. Poop in Pool.

"Sh*t happens."

I was approximately the tender age of two-years-old when Ol' Rodney (<- my father) first used that expression in my presence. Forrest Gump said the same thing on the silver screen about a decade later. Ol' Rodney and Forrest were both trying to prepare me for such unfortunate events involving the subject matter, but ever the eternal optimist, I refused to believe either of them until this past weekend.

That's when Mr. Cush and I headed to the neighborhood pool and were greeted by this sign (you may have already seen it on Twitter) …



I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. I'm truly not that original.

After 15 minutes of lathering up with the necessary sunscreen for the Texas sun and mixing a batch of our Perfect Pink Pool Concoction, I. was. not. impressed.

**The rest of this blog is now hypothetical. You can choose your own ending at the end of the post.**

Mr. Cush: "Ewwwwww."

Me: "We're going to another pool." 

You have two outcomes to now choose between ... either the ever-rationale Mr. Cush may or may not have convinced me to return home and waste the afternoon watching another marathon of The Big Bang Theory, or my signature (and patent pending) 'aura of b*tchiness' may or may not have kicked in and convinced Mr. Cush to immediately drive us to a nearby apartment complex, follow a resident into their gated community and crash the pool like a pair of teenagers.

Which ending would you choose?
Ashley

1 comment:

  1. For sure the latter. And then you made him drive you to get a new purse.

    ReplyDelete