I am just a bad person.

I realized this last night when my friend Aaron and I walked his dog through Central Park. When Aaron's dog, Ruby, poo-pooed on the snowy sidewalk ("Good Job, Ruby. You're a good girl!"), Aaron instinctively pulled out a plastic bag and transformed it into a deli glove with which to pick up the shit.

Meet Ruby.

"Just cover it up with snow and freeze it," I suggested, not able to imagine wanting the warmth of dog crap to be that which keeps me heated on a cold winter night.

"GiGi, what if you stepped in this? You wouldn't be too happy about it, would you?" He said in a manner that really suggested the notion that he was - plainly and simply - a better person than I.

"No, I guess not. But, when I had a dog, she used to go in the decorative grass area right by the sidewalk, not directly on the sidewalk."

"Well, Ruby is completely liberated now."

"Really? You mean, like, she doesn't wear a bra?"

"Exactly. She has really small nipples anyway."