This morning? When I opened the front door? Guess what was on my porch?
*Not actual size. Close to actual disgustingness.
It ran off the porch as soon as I opened the door, but not before FREAKING ME THE FREAK RIGHT ON OUT.
I knew raccoons were hanging out because our trash cans, which my husband cleverly ties up with bungee cords, have been broken into. Repeatedly. And dogs can't do that. They can knock them over, but they can't take the bungees off. I know this for sure because my dog Ginger? She's the smartest dog ON THE ENTIRE PLANET. So if she can't do it, no dog can.
THEN, because I'm a huge freak and because it's five thirty in the morning and because I have slept a total of three hours in the past two days? I was afraid to get in my car.
Because there might be a RACCOON IN MY CAR.
So I go around and open all the doors AND the trunk (after, you know, disabling the alarm and unlocking the car. Because raccoons, in my world, can disable alarms and unlock doors and then RE-ENABLE the alarm and then LOCK all the doors back). I looked under the car seats. I reached back and punched the air, vigorously, in case any raccoons (or murderers or rapists) were back there and would benefit from feeling my fists of death.
I got into my car seat and felt something hit my feet.
My heart? Hit the floor.
Slowly, I lowered my eyes and?
I had dropped my freaking cell phone. OUT OF MY OWN HAND.
Good God y'all. I need some sleep.