Dog Shit and Ikea

I stepped in dog shit twice yesterday. Those who are believers of superstition might say that I have had two helpings of good luck. Those who are realists would say it is doubly as unlucky to step in dog shit twice on the same day. There is nothing lucky about stepping in dog shit. Luck has never visited anyone in the forms of a smelly shoe and disease. The worst thing is that the dog shit in question is on the steps to our flat, and in the dark was impossible to see. Its almost like someone has ‘No Fido, not there by the tree, over here on this residential property’. I hope my cats shit in that person’s garden on their duraniums. 

The aforementioned shite was received whilst carrying an armchair out of our flat and a table into it, thanks to one of my girlfriend’s spur of the moment refurnishing ideas. She has these fairly often and will just decide to change things around the house without any prior warning or discussion. A few months ago I came home to see her hanging nails into the wall and hanging various hats on them because it made a nice display. Previously the hats were in a draw and I didn’t think the wall looked too bad all by itself but apparently I am wrong and have no idea, which is highly possible. The last place I lived in before having a girlfriends superstition had just a Radiohead, Wu-Tang and Spiderman poster on the wall and while I thought at the time that was the kind of decor likely to be featured in New Homes magazine, I’m fairly sure now that that long haired loon Llewelyn Bowen would spit at it. 
Yesterday’s idea was that we needed a table as we don’t have a proper one. Cue a trip to Ikea on an otherwise pain free day. Strangely enough, while I feared for our relationship we were in and out in an hour, with no arguments whatsoever. To be fair this isn’t that surprising. Layla and me never argue about anything. We once get a bit irritated with each other in the supermarket about some bread. Neither of us remember what it was for but it is now always used as reference point. Whatever it was, I was right. 
What did make me angry in Ikea was everyone else. We were in the Edmonton branch where someone was killed on opening day and I understood why as soon as we got there. Its full of idiots.  I nearly chinned a man who thought the best way to use a trolley was by swaying it across the aisles and I had a few bouts of verbal people rage as is prone to happen when an area is filled with fuck wits. The worst were a bunch of women fawning over a baby in the middle of the aisle that led to the check outs. This display of broodiness was causing a pile back all the way to plant pots. I was sorely tempted to drop kick the child into the shoe racks in order to leave. Luckily the rage was calmed by the 55p vege hotdogs at the end. Its almost like they planned that as a sedative. Before you can shout they stick a sausage in your gob. 
The table is the first item from Ikea that didn’t have a piece missing which is usually your penance for kicking someone while in the bathroom section. I think that the dog shit and the withholding of anger meant the table was up in 20 minutes. I now have something a bit better to write on and the cats have four new scratching posts. Maybe I should step in dog shit more often. 

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