GW (But only if you're hoomin)

I left the front door in a hurry this a.m. and went flying down the
porch step without really looking where I was going.

What I did not see was a huge rat that had been obviously left for my
approval.

I stepped square on it. No, I didn't just step on it. I SLID on it.

I felt a crunch, then a pop, and I'll just shut up there. And I wasn't
even
wearing real shoes, just flip-flops.

It was Frank and Boots, undoubtedly. It had certain parts missing, and
that's
the signature to their work.

So I am in the yard squealing and dancing like a six-year-old girl,
which totally
terrified F&B such that they immediately scurried off. I felt kinda
bad about that.
I mean, they went to all that trouble, and that's not the kind of
praise they were looking for.

So my plans tomorrow are to find a male to scoop up the remains and
dispose of them. At this house, that falls under "man job"
descriptions.I am such a wussy.

But as of tomorrow I am a wussy who watches where she is planting her
feet.
I know how stupid ths sounds. But it was *traumatic* to slide on a
dead rat. I bet I even dream about this.

Sherry

Sherry