Some days you've just gotta shove your work in some far-off cupboard and go on a top secret mission.
Dun dun duuuuuuun.....
Remember my friend, G, and our years of exchanging Mr. Duck back and forth (and back and forth, and back and forth)? You should probably read about it here before you read anymore.
And remember how Mr. Duck has likely been sucked into the vortex of some college friend's garage? And remember how I've sorely missed Mr. Duck over the years?
And remember how Mr. Duck was sneakily replaced last Christmas with a squirrel that turned out to be a skunk?
Skunkie was the bearer of great comfort and joy that day, back when I still had tonsils that were always unhappy. Accompanying him was a card wishing me well, herbal throat coat tea, and an unspoken invitation to renew the lawn-ornament-exchanging tradition that was lost back when Mr. Duck disappeared.
I couldn't say no to that unspoken invitation, because it was an invitation to participate in a top secret mission. I love top secret missions.
And so several months later I pulled Skunk out of the closet at my parents' house, put a nose plug on the stinky little stinker upper, and stuck him in the car.
I've never driven with a skunk riding shotgun before and it evoked strong, foreign desires. Like the desire to blast country music with all the windows rolled down. You haven't really lived until you've driven with a skunk riding shotgun, that's for sure.
When I rolled up to G's parents' house (where G was dining for the evening) I turned down the country music, lest G come running out. He loves country music, and I needed to keep him in the house so I could complete my top secret mission in complete secrecy, you see.
I parked behind a large tree, my heart pounding and stomach churning (maybe I take this too seriously?), and then I marched up to G's car, stuck the skunk on top, skittered back to my car, and drove away.
Easy as 1,2,3.
Later that evening I got a text from G with this picture: proof of my top secret mission accomplishing skills.
Truth be told, G found Skunk sooner than he should have....so maybe he saw me through the window, or maybe he heard my country music, or maybe he has a sixth sense—a lawn ornament secret mission sense. Yes, that's it; I have a sense that he has a sixth sense. I wonder if I have the same sixth sense? One thing I know: I'll soon find out.
G, the skunk's in your court now. Bring it.
© by scj