While browsing the internet on Wednesday, I read that a lot of big-box stores are holding clearance sales to get rid of excess summer inventory. "Great," I thought, "I will grab my toddler some new pool toys at a deep discount... what could go wrong?"

Poop. That's what could go wrong. So much poop.

Target did not have any pool toys on sale, so I grabbed Charlie a dinosaur book and headed to the checkout line. That's where my nightmare began.

As I am making my way toward the self checkout, I heard an employee yelling out "WATCH YOUR FEET!" Couldn't be me, I told myself, my feet are in no danger at the moment.

Oh, how wrong I was. I looked down at my feet and below them, well, below them my friends was a trail of human poop. It was as brown as you can imagine, and the trail stretched from the greeting cards all the way to the self-checkout.

I had stepped, multiple steps even, in excrement. Not cool.

Shaken, but undeterred, I decided to shake it off and continue with my purchases, trying not to process the horrors I had just seen.

I paid for my items before making the second biggest mistake of my life: I went to use the restroom. There, after using the facilities, I was treated to a second poocano lava flow, which I also promptly stepped into.

I drove home and immediately went to bed. You can recover from stepping in poop once. Twice? That's a wrap for the day, try again tomorrow.

I don't know where to go from here. Is there a support group? A therapist who specializes in fecal trauma? I just feel so alone in this new, poop-stained world.