There’s an unrelated story below the pictures. Keep on reading.
She’s all rah-rah:
So is she:
Auburn on the floor against Georgia:
They are getting really close to a shocking upset. In their home opener, and posting a season-high score, the Tigers narrowly fell to the Gym Dogs, 195.975-195.600.
I like to think she’s yelling “MERCY IS FOR THE WEAK!”
I mentioned this on Thursday and have received the nod to tell the story on the grounds that it is funny now, but it wasn’t then.
(It was marginally that day, too.)
Just after we got married The Yankee was throwing something into the outdoor garbage cans one fine, sunny afternoon. In that house the large cans lived outside along a brick wall. She walked out the door, bag in hand and around to the large rubbermaid can.
From inside I heard a shriek. Through the window I could see her doing what can only be described as the “Ewww! Ewww! Icky!” dance. The neighborhood noticed.
At least I know she is not hurt, I thought, but just merely disturbed. I walked out to investigate.
“There is something in the can!”
Besides the garbage bag?
“There’s something alive in there!”
It was daytime, so it probably wasn’t a raccoon. But the can was upright, so there was no way to know what was really in there. My lovely bride had not bothered to consider the animal’s taxonomic nomenclature and was no help.
I really didn’t want to lean over the garbage can, find a cornered skunk and get sprayed in the face. I fetched my camera and assumed the outstretched arms, blind shot posture. After two tries I had a picture and could identify the invading critter.
It was a possum, baring his teeth, scared out of his little varmint mind.
City girls.
Picking up the almost empty can I carried him far, far away. Flipping the can on its side — I don’t know if possums can climb slick surfaces — the little guy scampered off, shot her a look and scooted up a tree. I bet he was somehow involved in this.
