Mondays don’t usually bother me since I don’t work outside of our apartment but, man, yesterday was a Monday.
Know what I mean?
But pull up a beanbag and have a sit. I’ve got a story to tell and it’s a good one.
My parents divorced when I was just over the age of two and my father got me every other weekend. Most weekends I spent at my father’s mother’s house while my father napped on the couch with the news blaring. Apparently hearing loss started early with him. Or maybe he was just trying to not hear anything?
At any rate, I was on my own for most of those weekends.
The important part of all of this is one night I ventured out to the carport once my father and his mom were asleep.
I don’t remember why but that’s not important. I was probably nine and reason isn’t high on a nine year old’s priority list.
What IS important is the fact there was a opossum hanging out under my grandmother’s car under the carport.
Luckily, for me, there was a broom next to the door because that opossum hissed at me and I hit that bitch with the bristly end of the broom.
I hit, it shuffled and then looked back over its shoulder and hissed at me. I hit, it shuffled and looked back over its shoulder and hissed at me.
This went on for a good twenty minutes.
The whole time, this opossum took his sweet, sweet time getting the hell off of the carport. Once he was gone, I was left with this disgust of opossums.
So to this past weekend. We traveled to Nashville for Tucker’s Drill weekend because it was Family Fun Weekend and it wasn’t that bad. I know. I’m shocked as well.
On the drive home, I stared at the hills and mountains – at the random beauty that passed me by. And then. THEN, I cast my eyes upon a random bluff.
And what the hell did I see?
A HERD OF OPOSSUMS!!!
I am NOT joking here. There were five or six cat sized opossums walking in formation. To where? I don’t know. But they were walking with purpose and I can’t help but think we shouldn’t be so worried about zombies.
What we should really be worried about is opposums.