As the song goes, ain’t nothin’ like the real thing baby. Right now our “real thing” is a dead possum in the wall. Thing stinks to high heaven.
We called the pest guys and they spent an hour and forty-five minutes trying to find the corpse. They managed to retrieve a nest and hit us with the bombshell that the thing had been living in our wall and under our house for a long time, possibly even having possum kiddies. Yuck! They found feces and urine in the space behind our tub. But they couldn’t find the critter.
So, while we’re selling the house, we have dead possum funk in the guest bathroom, mostly. Our youngest filled her diaper this evening with excess Mexican food. That smelled better than the possum. I threatend to shove that diaper into the wall. At least we could explain away baby poop smell.
Well, while the pest guys were here, our neighbor — a contractor — stopped by. Well the chief pest guy says he wants to drill holes in the wall but he’s skeptical that he’ll see anything because of the tub pan the builder supposedly has put there. He “knows” there’s a tub pan there because he “knows” the builder’s work. Well, our contractor friend says there’s no tub pan under there. He’s been under his house and there wasn’t one there.
The back story is these two know at least of each other. Our contractor friend says the pest guy likes to hear himself talk — all the time.
“Suzy. They’re back there trying to see who’s d*ck is bigger.”
Well, the pest guy does the drilling and guess what? No tub pan.
“Suzy. Sylvio’s d*ck is bigger.”
Anyway, no corpse. And we’re out a buck and a quarter and still have rotting animal flesh in our house somewhere.
Ain’t life grand.