A morning at the river with my kids. The water swishes and gurgles. Birds chirp, unseen in the trees. Our footsteps crunch in the rocky sand. My sons throw rocks into the water, and the water gulps them up. The air is cool on my nose.

Suddenly my 6yo says, “Mommy, what’s cunt?”

I’msorryWHATnow?

I go over to him and see that there, in the rocky sand, in the midst of nature’s own cathedral, a human grundle has written the word “cunt” on a river rock, and that sweaty little taint has left that rock on the shore for my 6-year-old to read aloud.

All around the river bank and in the water, I find all the requisite human grundle accoutrements. The Sweaty Taint Deluxe Accessory collection, if you will:

- Coors Light cans with holes in the bottom from where they were shotgunned, doubtless to the murmured brosings of “Noice,” and, “Gangsta.”

- Red Bull cans, doubtless crushed upon a forehead sheathed in a backwards Seahawks cap.

- An empty tin of Copenhagen.

(Please note: I STILL have never wished mouth cancer on another person. But oh, I was close this morning at the river. I ended up wishing him mouth sores? Like, chronic ones that ooze sour milky smelling pus? I’M GONNA NEED SOME POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT HERE.)

- a Nature Valley granola bar wrapper and a Ritz peanut butter cracker wrapper, doubtless packed by your fucking mom, you actual shart.

So fucking selfish. So fucking rude. It would have taken ten seconds to stuff those wrappers into your cargo shorts pocket (because I KNOW you were wearing cargo shorts, pal.) If writing “cunt” on rocks at the river is the way you bleed off your hatred of women, like, okay, it’s not the worst coping mechanism ever, but dude, it would have taken three seconds to throw your incel graffiti back into the water from whence it came.

And you want to know the worst part? You know who cleaned that shit up.

You know who tossed the rock back in the water, collected the trash, and quietly (well, mostly quietly) worked to make the space safe and healthy again. OF COURSE I DID.

The worst part is that it wasn’t my job to collect this trash, but I could not leave it there in good conscience. My choice was:

1) clean up after these assholes

or

2) be complicit in the toxicity of my environment, and my kids’ environment.

Guys, clean your shit up. Not just your actual trash, although that would be fucking GREAT. Notice the intangible trash that the people in your lives invisibly collect for you. Stop putting us in the position of having to choose between doing your work and permitting toxicity.

K thanks byeeeeee!!!

A shorter version of this post originally appeared on the KatyKatiKate Facebook page on June 22, 2018.