My match.com membership expires this week. I’ve been on the fence on whether I should renew it or not.
Mostly, I’m exhausted. It’s not a good sign when I’m looking forward to next weekend – a three-day weekend with my brother helping me scrape and paint the exterior of my house – as downtime.
But, being exhausted right at this moment doesn’t mean that I’m not a tiny bit … itchy.
When I arrived in Dallas Friday night, I didn’t have anyone to call to assure that I had arrived safely.
And yesterday in the airport, I sat across from a middle-aged couple. They were side by side, each playing a game on their phones. I thought that was sad, until I realized they were competing against each other, laughing. Then, I was jealous.
The final nail in the coffin? Today, after work, I noticed Foxie Doxie standing guard over a treasure in the yard.
Yeah, you know this isn’t going to end well.
Foxie picked up the treasure, then set it back down, unsure of what to do. When I walked over to investigate, I discovered that the treasure was … a dead baby squirrel.
Last time Foxie discovered a treasure in the yard, Poochie was here. Mercifully, my sweet baby brother took a snow shovel and tossed the carcass across the fence, into the yard of the empty house next door.
No, I’m not proud of that. But I was relieved.
So, today, my thought process went like this:
I have to do something with the dead squirrel.
First, I have to quarantine Foxie Doxie. I wonder if I can get him to gargle Listerine. Probably not.
I have to do something with the dead squirrel. Too bad I can’t just chuck it over the fence, since that house isn’t vacant anymore. Too bad Poochie isn’t coming until Friday. Could I leave the squirrel outside until then?
Probably not. Foxie would try to pick it up.
It would probably be bad form if I called Poochie and asked him to drive three hours here and three hours back to dispose of a dead squirrel.
Ok. I’ll double-bag it. I sure hope it doesn’t stink up the trash in the garage. Trash day isn’t until Friday, which is, like, 72 years from now.
I am a woman. I can do this. No one will know if I hold my breath and almost cry. The point is just to get the job done – doesn’t matter how. I am woman, here me roar. I am woman, see me dispose of carcasses.
And then? Then I picked up the squirrel with a trowel, doubled-bagged the carcass, double-knotted the two bags, and threw the whole mess into the garage trash can. Yes, I closed the lid carefully. And yes, I then washed my hands for about 20 minutes.
And this, my friends, is yet another reason why I’m renewing my match.com subscription.