I give you this:
A month or so ago I was Facebook-y involved in a conversation with a couple of friends (LEM et Ree Ree Bun) who I've known since middle and high school, respectively. One of those chats that starts as one subject and morphs into an entirely different
Now, I don't wanna
A million years ago when LEM, Ree and I were
|Not the BBGmobile (aka: Ginger) but as close as I could locate on the interweb. |
And yes. Yes I did feel compelled to give it racing stripes for historical accuracy.
One night on a dark country road
That nocturnal nature-y memory was what was being bandied about when I abruptly told LEM and Ree to "excuse me. I'll be right back." as I started to wander upstairs to the kitchen to take a photo of the opossum I have sitting on the side of the sink. The ceramic opossum that I spied and purchased in a dollar store and has been sitting at my sink for easily the past 20 years. For perspective sake, I'm not a tchotchke sitting on ever surface girl. Mainly because more stuff = more cleaning and why the fuck would I wanna set myself up for that? I'm far too lazy to have to clean 67 things around my counter, so you know this opossum figurine holds a certain level of importance to me. In fact, it's given me an internal giggle about that night pretty much every time it's caught my eye during otherwise mundane dish wash-y tasks.
It became even more meaningful to me (if possible) a few years back after a Very Special daytime opossum siting that had one
Unlike my previous opossum-y adventure, I felt my life was in less danger because this time
As I entered the kitchen I found myself slightly giddy over snapping a photo to share with LEM and Ree. I knew they'd love seein' that I still had the kitchen opossum. Click. Returned to post the shot... Which is exactly when I realized I'm a dumbass. Not only am? Have been every damn day for approximately two solid decades. It's the precise moment I recognized that my prized opossum is, in fact, a muther fuckin' hedgehog. Honestly? I was so angered by my discovery that having to clean it up was the only thing that prevented me from marching back to the kitchen, picking it up and smashing it on the floor and into a million pieces. I'd been hoodwinked by a headgehog!
|P.S. I now must refer to it as Fauxpossum.|
I realize that for many folks this would mark the end of a cracked out opossum saga. Thankfully, I'm not many folks...
Because I enjoy being overly dramatic about random shit,
On Christmas morn' as I gathered with family opening presents I unwrapped, well, let's just cut to the chase--
(Given to me by Mom's hubby.)
I have no idea what dark corner of the interweb one visits to find a spectacularly crazy opossum with babies figurine, but I am eternally grateful that Mom's husband did. I also have no idea why a manufacturer actually makes an opossum with babies figurine, but I'm thankful that they do. To say I'm overjoyed with it would be an understatement.
If anyone has a weird history with hedgehogs and would like a previously owned hoggy homage, please feel free to email me (firstname.lastname@example.org).
...And now for the Paul Harvey-y rest of the story?
I started this post a week or so ago, got busy, had time to consider
And that was that.
Today when I spied this
Ron Jeremy-Wrecking Ball