You dirty bastards that don’t pick up after your *dogs in the park. Particularly those parks where there are children playing sport – which pretty much covers any sizeable park in Sydney’s East.
I could go to great lengths to describe how I would like to bash you with the soccer boot that is full of your dog’s poop and clean it on your jumper, t-shirt or face (or any other available surface on you) but I won’t.
I will just say that I am dog tired (excuse the pun) of being confronted, usually late at night by a manky pair of soccer boots, that are full of crap, literally.
The other side of this multi-faceted coin is the fact that said child, who wore the boots thought they were covered in mud. The distinct smell of that which is not mud was so strong that I am not sure how the misunderstanding occurred here.
And as a public service announcement to those soccer moms (and dads if you’re the shit-shoe kicker) the best way to sort the problem out is as follows:
- Run hot water over the shoe
- If you remember put on a pair of latex gloves (it’s a psychological help more than a physical one).
- Pour industrial strength Domestos bleach (preferably the lemon smelling one) over the shoe (again more psychology but it starts to make the smell dissipate). Again and Again.
- Get a chopstick and some toothpicks.
- Hack away at the soccer boots like you mean it. (You will learn how many grooves there are in a soccer boot only accessible by toothpick. You will want to vomit).
- All this should be done under hot running water. (You will use about 100 litres cleaning the shoes).
- Get wetwipes to clean the upside of the boot where the shit has splattered during the course of soccer training which means it is all over the bottom and the top of the boot). (You will use about 50 wetwipes)
- Finally, go and make the cup of tea you went downstairs to make before you noticed and smelled the soccer boots sitting in the laundry room. When you get back upstairs, express your bad mood by yelling at the soccer playing child and at your husband as you hand over the tea and mutter incessantly FML, FML, FML.
- Tell people not to talk to you until morning.
Love and light (even from the dark recesses of my shitty soccer boot cleaning corner)
*no blame was put on any dogs in the writing of this post or during the industrial cleaning action of the soccer boots.
Linking up with the lovelies over at FYBF.