Hotter and I went to the feed store today, to buy, among other things, a square shovel. Which is how I found myself standing in front of a wall of shovels, looking at two nearly identical models in confusion. The only difference between the two was a red plastic handle-cap on the more expensive one, and six dollars. "Why the hell," I asked, "is this a six-dollar plastic cap?" The cap didn't even have a hole through it for gripping or hanging the shovel. The two shovels had identical blades, and wooden handles of the exact same length. A passing feed store employee offered up that one was probably heavier than the other, and that it was better to go with the heavier one, because it would be better quality. I hefted both shovels, and the one with the plastic cap was marginally heavier. I hung that one back up on the wall. "It's for shoveling poop," I said. "I'm not that concerned about the quality of the tool." He smiled, and gestured toward a much larger shovel that looked to me like a snow shovel. "That one right there's a good poop-shovel," he offered, clearly not a guy who would compromise on the quality of his shit-shovel, which I had never until that moment thought of as a type of person. "The poop's not that big," I said firmly, sticking to my guns. He nodded. "Well. I guess it depends on whose poop you're talking about shoveling."
Reader, the poop in my life is endless, but since my divorce I am unwilling to spend any more than is absolutely necessary on cleaning it up.