
I would love to be able to tell you what an awesome time I had this weekend, but it was kind of a dud in more ways than one. We went to an estate sale on Saturday morning, where we bought some gardening stuff and my husband decided to put them in our cellar before we went out of town. He starts down the stairs, stops mid-flight and says, "There's a dead baby possum down here."
Me: Oh no! Is it really small?
Him: Yes, and its teeth stick out like this <cue husband bucking out his two front teeth>
After we got that taken care of we headed out of town to visit family and g0 to an antique flea market. There were a lot of vendors there geared towards shabby chic style, so we didn't mark anything off our list. The only thing I bought was an ancient sewing table to store toilet paper in–the top lifts up—for the downstairs bathroom. Sexy, I know. But wait, there is even more sexy coming.
We get home and drag ourselves into the house only to be slammed in the face by the most vile smell ever. Oh, and crazy swarms of flies. Hurl X a Million.
Congratulations, there is still something dead in your cellar. We decided we were too repulsed at this point by what we might encounter and called an animal removal service. He found the mama possum in about two minutes in our crawl space. The most unbelievable thing was that this guy did it the whole time without a face mask. Maybe he can't smell? I don't know because I was practically hurling myself as I cowered in the corner of my living room.
I did find a few other things at the estate sale that I'll post pictures of once I recover from this ordeal.