“Why do these things always happen to you?” my mum texted yesterday afternoon.
“So I have something to blog about,” I replied.
The latest “thing” that happened to me is that a possum carked it in my roof space.
Yep, the one who partied above my bedroom ceiling at 4am every morning. The one I kept meaning to call The Possum Man about and putting off because I hate calling people.
Well, at least I hope there was only one.
While it was much cheaper for the possum to die in my roof space than be removed by The Possum Man, I can’t say it was less traumatic.
The universe cleverly orchestrated the timing of the possum’s death to deliver maximum stench to my house by yesterday, when it was a sweltering 32C and I was working from home with the blow flies.
Possums who have been dead for a few days and are getting all mangey and maggoty smell really, really bad in 32C heat.
Fortunately, my ex popped over for dinner last night to see how the youngest’s first day of high school went.
He kindly offered to don some of the eldest’s old clothes and clamber around in the roof space with a garbage bag, some rubber gloves and a bottle of disinfectant.
Removing dead possums from roof spaces is really something you’d think would be off the to-do list when you leave your wife.
Anyways, my ex got worried when he found the possum with its ringtail curled around a light fitting in the kitchen ceiling. He was nervous that possy had died of electrocution and asked me to go out to the metre box and turn off all the power before he touched the rotting carcass.
So I pootled out to the metre box and flicked all the switches and then started giggling uncontrollably … and nervously … about whether I’d done it properly.
If I hadn’t … who’s gonna believe that I didn’t kill my ex on purpose.
I mean, we don’t have a financial settlement or anything …
So I triple checked the switches, because while I might be cranky about the way my marriage ended I don’t want to bump him off.
It was quite the surreal moment.
Then I went back inside and my ex made lots of gagging noises as he put the possum in the garbage bag and scraped up all the loose fur and maggots and passed the bag down the ladder to me and I carried it out to the wheelie bin … making lots of gagging noises too …
After he’d changed back out of the eldest’s manky clothes, we sat down to a nice bottle of pinot grigio and leg of lamb and chatted to the 11-year-old about high school.
My weird life.
But YAAAAAAAY no more smelly possum!
Song of the day: “Wild thing” by Animal