Monday, June 8, 2009

Partners? Partners are good.

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.

4 comments:

Gretchen said...

Ahh, but even if you have someone, you can't always convince them to drive 30 minutes home from work to dispose of the HUGE rabbit your dog killed and dragged through the dog door! I am sure I have told you the story of how Brodie had displayed the win so nicely, but it wasn't discovered until after Ryan was at work. I survived by putting on my dishwashing gloves, double bagging, etc. Women still need to be strong! :)

Good luck with the renewal. Hard work, but hopefully worth it!

Green Girl in Wisconsin said...

At least you know how to dispose of a corpse JUST IN CASE things go down a wrong path with Match.com.
The first dead varmint is always the worst. Trust me, it gets easier.
Did Foxie Doxie forgive you for trashing his new toy?

Dorrie said...

I agree, even when you do have someone, they always seem to be unavailable when these things happen. So be strong. We are all behind you rooting for you and the next time my cats bring home a present for me, I'll remind myself that if Cha Cha did it, so can I.

Enjoyed your article on the Women's Colony. Very funny.

Kris (www.noodleloo.com) said...

I think this is a perfectly valid reason to renew your match subscription.
The disposal of dead animals is one of the main reasons that I search for a partner as well. I am woman, hear me roar, but not while I am scooping up sad little dead animals. Then, hear me cry.