The Sack of Crap

I doubt I've ever worried so much about possibly needing to hit the brakes. But you see, I had a sack of crap in the back of my car. A McDonalds sack. And the crap part, literal. Not the figurative sack of crap from McDonalds. But I kept having this horrid vision that I'd need to hit the brakes and the sack might go hurling through the car and explode across the windshield or something. It's kind of the way things seem to chronically go for me. You're probably wondering at this point why, exactly, I was transporting raw turd in a McDonalds bag across town. More specifically, raw human turd. Well, we left my mom's house and a few miles down the road Jordan decided he needed to "potty"... He said he couldn't wait and started shouting about it so I knew it was urgent. I quickly pulled over and ushered him to a bush in the parking lot, thanking my lucky stars that boys can pee anywhere. I helped him get his pants down and he started shaking his legs and yelling "Wha-do I do?!" I told him to just go and he looked at me with sheer disgust. "I need ta poop, Mommy!" OMG you're freaking kidding me. In a parking lot?! What do I do?! It's really frowned upon to leave human poo on the ground in a parking lot I think. So the proverbial sack of sh*t became literal, and I might drop an anonymous note to the manager of the shopping center regarding their need for trash cans.