You can be as posh as you like, strut around in designer clothes with your fluffy dog by your side, but the moment you start swinging a bag of dog shit like it’s the latest fashion accessory, you've officially crossed into another level of madness.
The Poshest Poo Bag You'll Ever See
Alright, listen up, because I’ve just had one of those moments that makes you question everything. You know the kind, where you’re just minding your own business, driving your bus, doing your job, and then something so bloody ridiculous happens you have to remind yourself that you’re not in a sitcom.
So, it's a beautiful Saturday afternoon, right? The sun’s out, birds are chirping, and the whole world is pretending that everything’s perfect. And what do I get to see through the window of my bus, as I drive down the road like the seasoned professional I am? This woman. This woman who looks like she’s just stepped out of a Cosmopolitan magazine. Full-on, head-to-toe elegance. The kind of woman who’s wearing sunglasses, even though the sun is barely there. She’s walking her dog, and I don’t mean some scruffy little mutt that’s eaten half the bin in the street. No, no. This dog looks like it’s been through some sort of canine spa and is probably signed to an agency.
She’s walking it down the street, her heels clacking with the kind of precision you only see in expensive Italian fashion ads. Her coat’s worth more than my annual union fees, and I’m sitting there, in my bus, thinking: “Right, here we go. I’m about to witness a human being who’s nailed life. This woman is the epitome of sophistication. She’s the living embodiment of Spring. We should all aspire to be her. Look at the dog, look at the walk… this is the high life.”
Then, of course, she does the unthinkable. The crime. She pulls out a plastic bag and starts swinging it. And I’m like, “What the hell is she doing?” Because, at first, I thought, “Is she holding a tiny handbag? Or maybe an emergency snack for the dog?” But nope. That’s a dog poo bag.
Not just any poo bag, though. It’s swinging from her hand like it’s some sort of fashion accessory. You know what I’m talking about, right? The sort of bag you think, “Well, that’ll be thrown away in 10 seconds, why bother making it part of your outfit?” But no. She’s giving it flair. It’s flapping around in the spring breeze like it’s part of the bloody Royal Collection. There’s no shame in her game. I don’t know if she’s trying to tell the world, “I’m a responsible dog owner” or if she’s just trying to see if she can make dog waste the next big thing.
Now, I don’t care how posh your dog is. If you’re holding a bag of dog turd in public and swinging it like it’s a bloody Louis Vuitton, you’ve made a mistake. You’re the one thing I’m going to notice for the next half hour. I can’t stop staring at this bag of shit swinging like it’s got its own gravitational pull. It’s like she’s been doing a live demonstration of "How to ruin your entire aura with one plastic bag".
You ever been to one of those fancy parties, where everyone's sipping wine, talking about important things, and there's someone at the back, like, “Yeah, I just picked up my dog's shit, but don’t worry, I’m holding it like I’m Madonna”? That’s what’s happening here. It’s like she thinks that bag is the final accessory that ties the whole thing together.
No. The thing about dog poo bags is, they don’t add elegance. You can’t polish a turd, love. You can’t add gold foil to it and call it a piece of art. You can’t just casually swing it and pretend like it’s part of your signature look. What are you, trying to make the public aware of your dog’s digestive system? “Oh, yes, darling, let me show you how I’m environmentally responsible while also giving you a glimpse into my dog’s dietary choices. It’s spring chic.” Yeah, no. You can’t just “own” that look, okay?
And it wasn’t just the bag. It was the swinging. She wasn’t even holding it at arm’s length, you know? She was flipping it like she was in the bloody Pride Parade, strutting down the street with her bags of poo held high for all to see. It was almost like it was the thing she was most proud of. I half expected her to turn to the dog and say, “Well, darling, don’t you worry. At least we own the poo bag. It doesn’t own us.”
It wasn’t just a statement. It was an event. If I had more time on my hands, I’d’ve gone over there, given her a round of applause, and said, “You’ve done it, love. You’ve turned something no one cares about into a bloody spectacle.” But I didn’t, because, let’s face it, I’ve got a bus to drive, and there’s always some idiot asking me why the ticket machine’s not working. And she’s still out there, walking down the street, probably thinking she’s nailed it.
Look, all I’m saying is this: you can walk your dog, you can be fabulous, you can own the spring day, but when you’re holding a bag of dog shit and flipping it like it’s the latest accessory, you’ve crossed a line. You’re not a fashion icon. You’re just someone holding a bag of shit.
And that, my friends, is the true meaning of high fashion.
Comments
Post a Comment