Today my life has been, well, stinky. My husband hit a skunk on the way to work this morning. He seems to have recently developed a habit of running over animals while wandering the farm roads of Iowa in the middle of the night. The underside of our van, in addition to the usual pumps and hoses and other indecipherable metal mysteries, is carrying around a great deal of Iowa nightlife. Now joyfully coated in the skunk’s last message to a cruel universe.
Thankfully the spray did not reach as far as the inside of the van. Skunk spray can, however, apparently penetrate the paint job on an ’02 Grand Caravan and take up residence in the metal body. The basic consequence of this is that while I’m riding around in climate controlled comfort, those in passing cars and people on the sidewalk are wrinkling up their noses and saying, “Look! a skunk cleverly disguised as a family vehicle!”
They might be more right than they think. No one actually knows how much of that skunk is currently enmeshed in the undercarriage of our van along with the cat, raccoon, wood turtle, and drunk ISU student Art hit last week. I know, I know. It’s not funny to joke about such things. The wood turtle is currently on the DNR’s endangered species list. Sorry, PETA. He didn’t really run over a turtle anyway, so keep your pants on.
Upon arriving at work this morning in my roadkill-mobile, I had to make my customary stop in the bathroom. Let me tell you this, the smell in there would put all three of the guys in my house to shame. I was doing my business when the worst possible thing happened– someone else walked in. What if she thinks *I* am responsible for this vomit-inducing aroma? I finished up and went out to wash my hands, hoping to be out of the bathroom before the other person left her stall. No such luck.
“Isn’t that smell awful?” she said. I could feel my face redden as I prepared to deny any responsibility in the matter. “I don’t know why but we have such a problem with sewer gas in here sometimes.”
Sewer gas. Right. I knew that. I hadn’t just been thinking about suggesting that they send everyone in for a bowel screening immediately.
In other less stinky news, I had my eyes dilated this morning and the entire computer screen is currently flashing like a strobe light to my overly sensitive eyes. I take a drug called Plaquinil for my arthritis and one of the side effects can be vision problems. So today Doctor Handsome (he really, really isn’t) had to do some tests to get a baseline. Then every year that I’m on this stuff I have to go back in and repeat the tests.
I learned something about myself today, with my pupils dilated so big that my nose was complaining about the lack of space on my face, as Doctor Hansen shone a light several times brighter than the average star into my eyes.
I would never, ever stand up under torture.
If anyone were stupid enough to trust me with international secrets, which they wouldn’t be (although Art has been known to share highly classified Baptist College Security Information with me from time to time), all the opposing government/sect/political party would have to do is dilate my pupils and shine a fairly dim flashlight in my face and I’d spill everything. So I guess it’s a good thing that I live in Iowa and know nothing about the FBI, CIA, or any other covert government initial. You wanna talk about PMS? I’m your girl. Otherwise, go look in another cornfield.
The good news is, my eyes look fine and I don’t have to go in for another torture session for a whole year. The bad news is I can’t find my sunglasses.
Rosie, the faildog, just tried to jump up on Art. Unfortunately, she was under the table at the time and hit her head.
No doubt about it, she fits right in with this family.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go clean that
wood turtle ISU student out of the bottom of the van.
Have a lovely, stench-free day.