Some Days, You Wear the Egg Salad

Last Friday, I splattered egg salad on my foot while rushing to make a lunch to take to a last-minute subbing job. Here's the good thing: I was wearing crocs. For fashion-challenged readers, that translates to rubber shoes. The not-so-good thing . . . I called Carl over to have him lick it up. He's very accommodating that way. (If you haven't concluded that Carl is a dog, your life is a lot more interesting than mine.) And I didn't have to slow down in my race to eighth-grade science. But still. Is it really better to have dog slobber on your foot instead of foodstuff?

It wasn't until I got to school that I discovered that while my shoes were egg-salad free, not true for the horse poop that I'd traipsed through in the barn in my goin-ta-town rubber shoes instead of my shit-kickin', steel-toed rubber boots.