I haven't looked at the barometer on Clifford the Big Red Watch to see what the air pressure's been doing, but I don't much need to. It feels like I'm walking on someone else's legs from the knees down.
Thing is, if I was going to steal someone else's legs to walk on, why would I pick someone whose legs hurt so much?
And while I'm grumbling, I'd like to grumble about the jackhole who keeps dropping their bags of dog feces in my trash can after the trash man has run. Unless you are walking your dog here from some other county, you know that they don't dump these cans, which means that I have to retrieve your pooch's precious package out of the bottom of the can and bag it myself.
If I wanted to handle bags of your dog's crap, I'd come on the walk with you and offer to carry it, you ************* entitled-actin', self-absorbed, thimble-headed gherkin. I hope your dog has the runs all over the most expensive and hard-to-clean floor covering in your house.