The skunk played possum

My car smells like skunk.

Now, I am by no means fastidious when it comes to my car. The busyness of my schedule typically falls in exact proportion to the number of empty food containers on the floor of the passenger seat. This week is somewhere in the 2 coke cans and a mcdouble wrapper. This is a pretty slow week. But the stench my car has recently been graced with has me more than just a little miffed.

On a recent trip to adore the lights that come along with the Christmas season, my wife, my son, and I came across what appeared to be a dead skunk on the road. As I normally do, I veered the car away from the poor creature only to see its head, and tail, pop up. The skunk had been playing ‘possum. I must have awoken the odiferous rodent from his dreams of unrequitedly chasing a painted cat. All I really know about skunks is a) they stink and b) are prone to falling in love with other species they mistake for their own.

I apologize Mr. Le Pew for disturbing your slumber on the busy thoroughfare. I completely understand how the asphalt is so much more comfortable than the grassy knoll 10 feet away. Personally, I like a firm mattress too. But, I figure I respected your right to not become a road pancake. The least you could do is respect my right not to evoke a gag reflex from everyone in a 30 foot radius of my car when I come to a stop sign.

My wife and have often, well on more occasions than one but not as a topic of regular disscussion, commented that we actually enjoy the smell of skunk. Never more, never more.