The Horror... the Horror...

Mrs Raheny is not a squeamish sort of person.
She breast-fed a reflux baby for 9 months.
She has toilet trained (with the help of her hands-on husband) three kids.
She's pushed a buggy for hundreds of miles on the streets of Kilbarrack. She's routinely been taking care of dislodging dog poo from the grooves of all three wheels. And from three pairs of kids' shoes.

But today was an excrement too far.

She just could no longer face it.

I thought when I came back from the Mistake Factory this evening that I could smell a rat. A putrefying one at that...

There they were, in the porch, waiting for me. Luca's runners.
He really hit the jackpot today. The thing was so vile, and large, and spread out that he sunk into the ignominy twice (both shoes) in one stride.

Now, I'm not a squeamish person.
I have watched Mrs Raheny clean puke and poo for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I have even stood close enough to helpfully point out some bits that she had missed.

But tonight, I knew that I had to rouse the inner hairy hunter in me.
Executive decisions had to be made. An emergency action plan had to be drawn.

I'm almost sure that the neighbours from beyond the garden wall saw me from an upstairs window.
With my kettle of boiling water. My cycling mask. My speleologist lamp. My toothbrush.
Actually, Nana's toothbrush.

I'm quite sure that they heard me. Swear. And pour the boiling water. And swear a bit more. And retch through my mask. And scrape. And rinse with more boiling water. And scream from burning my hand with some boiling water.

Mission accomplished. Luca's shoes are now sanitised.

I'd better remember to put Nana's toothbrush back in its place in the bathroom cabinet.