posted by: Sarah Springfield
Prior to the telling of this story, it should be noted that Noah has been doing pretty much all of the hard, dirty and “bus”gusting work that is required to make the bus habitable by humans over the past few weeks – vacuuming up and scrubbing off the remnants of a decade’s worth of dirt and grime, bleaching, stripping out carpet and pulling up nails, crawling under the bus to weld leaks in the plumbing, etc.
Also, the other day when I was dusting off stuff in the garage I had a black widow the size of a baseball crawling up my pant leg. Noah killed it while I screamed loud enough to wake the dead and then didn’t want to dust another milk crate off all day.
Oh, and he can grow out a beard like a boss.
I could go on and on about all of Noah’s manly qualities, and they are legion, but I’ll trust that you’ll take my word for it: he’s a stud-muffin.
And, aside from all that, marriage is about teamwork: two halves making up the whole, balancing each other out, playing off each other’s strengths and weaknesses, etc. So it just makes sense that if there is something that one of you doesn’t want to do, but the other one doesn’t really mind doing, that person should be the one to do it. Even if it’s your five foot tall wife. I’m just saying.
All that being said: when Noah came in and said that he thought there might be a possum playing dead behind the wall panel he was trying to pry back to fix a leak in the shower and I could tell that he didn’t really LOVE the idea of getting it out, I volunteered to grab the sucker.
After taking the proper precautions, of course:
It didn’t wind up being a possum and it did wind up being for-real dead:
Suffice to say, we will be setting traps or poison or leaving trails of cheese into the neighbors garages post haste.
And if there are any other dead rodents that need disposing of, apparently I’m your girl. There will be a link to my new side business up soon. (And maybe we’ll hold a survey for the naming of it!)