This is a re-post of a couple of older posts where I am a killer of small defenseless animals. Because it’s a re-post only one squirrel actually lost his/her life.
I’m so sorry Mr. Squirrel. I really didn’t mean to hit you. I tried to slow down and I have to say, in my defense, I wouldn’t have hit you if you had kept running. It was because you did that stupid squirrel thing where you dart back and forth in the road in some lame attempt to disorient the driver so they swerve and hit a tree. I didn’t fall for it and instead ran you over. Oops! My bad! It really was an accident and something I really didn’t want to do in my husband’s car. He keeps it so clean and now there’s sure to be squirrel guts splattered on the bottom of his car. Not that you care anymore. Tomorrow I have to drive that way again and I’m sure to see you there in the middle of the road and I’ll know that I was the one who caused your horrible death. It’s just something I’ll have to learn to live with. I emailed Stacy hoping she would make me feel better about being a killer of squirrels and this was her sympathetic response:
You killed secret squirrel!! OMG!! How could you? You animal runner-over!
The squirrel killing saga continued over the next couple days
Killing that damn squirrel had bigger ramifications than I ever could’ve imagined. Rich and I had switched cars on Tuesday so he could bring mine in to the repair shop to have the annoying squeak repaired. (still not fixed even though they said it was. Maybe they should’ve driven it before they said it’s fixed, but that’s another story). So now it’s Wednesday and I have my non-squeak-free truck back and Rich has his car back. He is meeting some guy from Denmark and he is supposed to take out Denmark Guy to dinner. That night Rich is driving on the highway and his car just stops running for no apparent reason. Rich manages to pull over and get it started again. They go have dinner, but on the way back it’s doing the same thing. He manages to get Denmark Guy back to the hotel and Rich calls me to pick him up because he can’t figure out what’s wrong with his car.
Rich: You need to come get me, my car won’t start.
Me: Okay, where are you?
Rich: I’m in the lobby of the hotel behind John Doe Pontiac.
Me: I have no idea where John Doe Pontiac is.
Rich: It’s where I bought my car.
Me: I don’t know where you bought your car, I wasn’t with you.
So he proceeds to give me directions: go past the dealership were we got your truck and it’s just past that on your right.
Me: Do you mean the Marriott? The hotel we stayed at when Jack and Jill got married?
Rich: That’s it.
Men’s landmarks are car dealerships. Women’s landmarks are memories.
Back at home that night this was our conversation,
Rich: So you ran over a squirrel yesterday?
Me: Ya, I did.
Rich: You didn’t even tell me. I had to read it on your blog.
Me: You were asleep when I got home.
Rich: I was at work all day. You could’ve called me.
Me: Why would I call to tell you that? Would you call me to tell me you hit a squirrel?
Rich: I don’t know, maybe. Did you hit it with the tire?
Me: Of course I hit it with the tire. How big of a freaking squirrel do you think I hit?
Rich: Are you sure it was a squirrel?
Me: Oh…that’s right, car trouble, must be the woman’s fault.
Turns out it had something to do with the drive train not that naughty Mr. Squirrel.