Poo

I sometimes forget that most people just don't talk about poo as often or as casually as I do.

Several friends threw a pig pickin' at Ravi's house on Saturday evening - and this will, with many alarming pig pics, be the subject of an upcoming post. Ravi has an amazing house with a nice, big back yard, and it was a gorgeous summer evening - perfect for shorts and beer and pig.

The Director and I were chatting with a guy that we both met making the movie but don't actually know all that well. And at some point during the conversation I happened to look down and realize that the Director was wearing shorts I'd not seen before. Shorts with fun vertical zippers just above the hem.

So of course I reached down to unzip one of these intriguing side zips. And reached in. And started pulling out one black plastic bag after another.

I held one up and he said, "For poo."

Because, of course, he is a responsible poo-picker-upper when he walks his dog.

Forgetting we were in polite company, I said, "Oh, that's great. But Ravi has a really nice bathroom downstairs, so I'll probably go in the house if I have to poo."

And the Director just nodded. Because we have stupid conversations like this all the time.

But our companion looked slightly like a deer in headlights. He knew we were joking, heh heh.

But you could see the, "Why, why the bags? Why the chatting about poo before dinner? Why why why?" look on his face.