Carolyn & Taco

(I could end National Blog Posting Month with a post about what I learned this month about being a writer, and a reader. I could point you to my blog roll over on the right and suggest you read some of the amazing voices on there. I could thank BlogHer for recognizing some of my posts, and helping me have the best traffic I've ever seen. I could invite all of you who found me this month to keep coming back. I could do all of that, but instead - I'm going to tell you a story.)

My friend Carolyn is kind of an asshole. She is a Fine Southern Woman, from a Fine Southern Family, the type that believes that they are allowed certain behaviors due to the privilege of their birth. Behaviors like getting soused at the Country Club Christmas party and swimming in the fountain, or getting arrested for shoplifting on a lark. Carolyn spent most of her childhood in a private boarding school, before she was thrown into public high school in order to "build character" and "give her a taste of reality", according to her father. After a few glasses of wine, Carolyn herself will tell you it was more a result of bad investments in real estate, and less an investment in her character.

We were both in our early 20's when we met, and she's proven to be one of the most loyal and steadfast friends I've ever had. And really, only kind of an asshole.

She married young and rich and spends most of her time volunteering for various charities and shopping. She is tiny-waisted, fake-boobied, Frito-nailed, and dressed to the nines. She is a walking cliche. She even has one of these dogs:
 
The dog's name is Taco. Carolyn really likes Mexican food. She also really loves this dog - she dresses her up in ridiculous costumes and takes her everywhere. Taco is kind of an asshole, too. When she was a puppy, Carolyn's husband insisted that the dog be crate trained, and Carolyn felt horrible for having Taco in the crate. So she put a small television in the crate with the dog to 'keep her company'. Now, if you try to take her out of the crate during one of her programs (Real Housewives of OC is her favorite, but she gets super pissy if they even show a clip of the New Jersey bitches), she completely freaks out. She once bit me for turning off My Fair Wedding with David Tutera.

No shit.

So, maybe in response to her husband making her crate Taco, or maybe because she loves accessories, Carolyn takes Taco everywhere. One day, she and Taco met some ladies for dinner at a local Mexican eatery for Margarita Monday. Something about the mix of queso and tequila did Carolyn in, and she excused herself before the second round of drinks had even been ordered.

Carolyn never leaves before her second drink.

She started the long drive home and, about half way there, she realized that she was not going to make it without stopping. Carolyn and I are completely alike in this regard - we would almost rather shit in a bucket on the side of the road than befoul a public restroom. What if there were other people in there? What if there wasn't enough toilet paper? What if it wasn't clean?

Luckily, her husband's office was just a few miles down the road and she felt confident that, if she could just make it there, she'd be able to get some relief and continue the trip home. Plus, it was late, the office would be deserted, and she could do her business in peace.

She pulled in to parking lot of the building and, hesitating only briefly, grabbed Taco. She stood at the door to the office doing the potty dance (which bears a striking resemblance to the Cha-Cha), fumbling with the key. Oh God, I'm not going to make it, I'm not going to make it. Finally, the key slid in the lock and she turned the bolt and rushed in.

The bathroom was just off the lobby, a well appointed one-holer dripping with opulence. Carolyn herself had helped design the interior of the office, and had taken special care in decorating the bathrooms. From the white marbled tile to the crystal chandeliers to the fine Persian rugs, no detail was overlooked. Everything was imported from Italy or France or some other country where they can charge more simply because it was made there. It was truly stunning.

She ran in, shut the door, and practically hurled poor Taco down. Taco, confused by this sudden mistreatment, cowered by the toilet. Carolyn unbuttoned her very expensive, very small, trousers and slid them down to her ankles. It was then, as she stood fully bent over, that her ass decided to explode. The poo cannon that was her butthole had been packed so tight that when she leaned over, it shot out of her with alarming volume and velocity. Horrified, she stood up and looked behind her.

There was shit on the toilet.
There was shit on the wall behind the toilet.
There was shit on the Persian rug and the antique commode and the Caravaggio print.
There was shit on the ceiling.

There was shit on Taco. The poor dog had taken a crap-bath and was howling with disgust and despair.

Shut up, Taco! Shut up shut up shut up! Carolyn had two choices: She could clean it up, or just walk away. When her husband told her the story of the Phantom Shitter, she'd just have to act wide eyed and innocent and hope she didn't fall over dead from the guilt. Sure! Lots of people break into office buildings and shit all over the walls in the bathroom! 

Like I said, Carolyn's kind of an asshole, but she's not that kind of asshole.

So she cleaned herself up, found the cleaning supplies and started to work. After only a few minutes, she decided she'd rather not ruin her expensive tiny trousers, and equally expensive shirt, and really very expensive for underwear panties and bra, and so she stripped naked, carefully folded her clothes and laid them outside the bathroom door.

Imagine, if you can, being Taco. Imagine watching your owner as she stood, naked save a pair of yellow plastic gloves, sponging feces from the walls. It is a wonder the dog is not in therapy to this day. Then finally, finally, she got to the dog herself. Carolyn put her in the sink and started washing, alternately cursing and apologizing. The dog was anxious and shivering and so Carolyn did the one thing that always calmed Taco down - she started singing. We Built This City. Probably the most horrible song in the world, but it never failed to settle the Chihuahua.

A well-bred Southern woman, naked, wearing yellow plastic gloves, bathing her Taco in a sink. Singing Jefferson Starship.

It was then that the cleaning crew walked in.