A few months ago, my grandma died unexpectedly. Fast-forward to funeral, fast-forward to a memorial service this past weekend. As I stood at her gravesite all weepy and sniffly, I noticed other headstones had the names of children/grandchildren carved in the back. As we were leaving, I decided to see what was engraved in my grandparents' stone. I saw me, my brother, my cousins, the names of my uncles and aunt and then I saw... something that made my head tip to the side and made my mouth utter, "Who the fuck is Susan?"
My companions stopped, walked back, and tipped their heads in confusion. Nothing like a Scooby-Doo mystery to dispel grief! Away we scampered to the library to see if, in fact, there was a typo on the headstone. After many adventures with microfiche (a good band name, by the way), I saw in an obituary from 2007 that Susan was, in fact, not a typo. Or, if she was, she was a very persistent typo. Drama!
Coming home today, I managed to just miss the bus from airport to suburb. I had an hour to kill. Since I am a good west-coast girl, I know what to do when you have an hour after the coffee shops close. Two stouts later, I rode the wild bus to the local bus station. However, I managed to arrive after all the local buses stopped running. I started my two-mile walk with the confidence two stouts inspire. A mile in, my bladder was protesting with the weight of carrying those two stouts.
Being a proper young lady, I never, never, never pee in bushes or dark areas on the side of the road. Unless I have a very good excuse. As I was finishing up being a proper young lady, I heard a rustling from a nearby bush. The rustling got louder. I, powered by two stouts, started mentally running through all the horror story plots I'd ever read. Into the warm glow of street light walked...a skunk. I squeaked. It squeaked. We stared. He started to turn ass-first towards me. I shrieked "askunk, askunk, ohmygod, askunk, askunk, ohmygod" and ran, zipper flapping (like a proper young lady) until I was out of skunk radius...approximately three minutes of running.
I have traveled far and back, picked up a new aunt, and outran a skunk butt: a successful weekend.
An Erinku:
too late
to practice,
hungry fish
instead
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