As of this evening at about 8:30 pm, I had never in my 26-year-old life smelled a skunk. Not once. Not even when everyone else in the car was screaming and coughing and hacking and crying and holding their noses and rolling down the windows, then quickly rolling them back up again. I simply did not understand what the big fuss was all about.
Sometimes, growing up, Mom and Dad would say they smelled one in the neighborhood, or even outside our house, and as they closed all of the windows, my sister and I (she's still a Skunk Virgin) would scoff and laugh at the silly people who reacted so strongly to something so minor as a cute little cuddly furry skunk. Fast-forward to this evening.
We were innocently driving home from a lovely marriage presentation (seminar? talk? lecture? class?) that the pastor and his wife had put together for us (well, not just us) at church. We were almost to our street when off of the median jumped a cute little cuddly furry skunk, who proceeded to run right under the van and stop as we drove over him. We heard a couple of very small noises coming from under the van, and then there was this big crack in the universe, as my Skunk Virginity came to an end. It was all over. And I will regret this in the morning.
No, we (or, I should say, Mike) did not kill the insipid little varmint. Oh, no. He got to toddle off into the already set sun as I died a slow death knowing that my life would never again be quite the same. My innocence has been destroyed. I will never see life in the same way ever again. My nose hath been corrupted.
I can't wait to go to the car wash tomorrow and ask for a tomato bath.