'Cause not everything is gonna be the way you think it oughta be

AKA, The picnic that was not to be

Glen and I tried to have a picnic this weekend. I thought it would be nice and romantic, a celebration of and remembering of the two years worth of relationship we've had, since one of our first dates was a picnic in this same park. We got sushi and R.W. Knudsen spritzers from Bread & Circus (Whole Foods, whatever they call themselves), as well as cookies, and set out to walk to the park. Glen couldn't find the picnic cloth he usually keeps in his car, so he grabbed his spare rain jacket instead. We got the park, spread the jacket out, and I sat down, putting my hand squarely into dog poop. Disgusted and stinky, I called and started walking towards Glen's old apartment to see if his ex-apartment-mates would let me go there to wash. No one answered. Debating what to do, I walked back to Glen who suggested I call Michael who also lives nearby. I called Michael and he answered on the first ring. "Rather strange question," I told him, "But I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me come wash my hands at your house. I'll spare you the details." He said that was fine so I walked there, let myself in, and scrubbed vigorously in the bathroom. "Did you cut yourself?" he asked. "Worse," I said, and told him what happened. Fresh and soap-scented, I headed back to the park. Glen had moved the jacket and I sat down next to him, leaning on him as we opened edamame and the sushi. All was good for about five minutes until we saw a yellow lab barreling towards us. Try as we might, we couldn't keep the dog off us, and it easily overwhelmed our efforts to push it away, gobbling up the last half my sushi pieces. Calling it (to no avail), the owner came over and apologized, saying, "She's just really friendly." Obviously, this wasn't the problem. The problem was that sushi is awfully expensive food for one who is just as happy sniffing butts and rolling in decaying roadkill. The problem was that the dog obviously suffered from ADD. She'd be playing, playing, playing, and then suddenly would be bolting across the field to "be friendly" to a sunbather. Or us again. Or a girl, trying to read. Glen offered me his last piece of salmon nigiri which he had somehow miraculously saved from the dog's attack. "I don't think I could do it," he said to me, inclining his head toward the dog who was now running full speed circles around a couple park benches and a tree, while two other dogs looked on, puzzled. "I just don't think I could run in a circle more than once without becoming totally bored." We ate one cookie each in silence, then stood up, shook out the jacket, and went home.