So I bet you’re wondering why I was almost late again?  Are you?  Wondering?  What possible suburban catastrophe could have caused my “never be late” anxiety YET AGAIN?

Well, here it is.  I was HELD HOSTAGE BY A POSSUM.

Yes, it’s Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom in my backyard.

The morning started out like any other…

6:15  Alarm goes off on Husband’s side of bed (because ALLEGEDLY I never hear it).

6:16  Roll over and discover I have slept on my right shoulder WAAAY to long and it hurts like a motherfucker.

6:17  Do mental math to figure out how much snooze is left.  Attempt to stretch shoulder.  Pain makes me tired.  Go back to sleep.

6:23   Alarm goes off again.  Mental tally of snoozes begins to make sure I get up before 6:35.

6:31   Alarm goes off again.  Husband gets out of bed for shower and turns alarm off.  Spend four minutes figuring out what is clean in closet to cut down on dressing time… Bought myself more minutes.

6:33   Husband loudly closes bathroom door jolting me awake so rest is no longer an option.  Begrudgingly get out of bed.  Fluftagus (dog) wakes, shakes with deafening jangling rabies tag noises and flies off bed to backdoor.

6:34   Forget to let dog out and stumble into bathroom to brush teeth. Realize this and wonder if dogs can do kegel exercises to help in situations like this.  Bad owner, bad.

You get the picture.

I finally get my shit together and am ready to leave.  I turn towards the back door to see the Fluftagus sitting there (waiting to come back in now) staring at something THAT IS MOVING. 

Upon further inspection, it is a baby possum baring its teeth and swaying back and forth like a rat on crack.

Usually, Fluftagus would be going batshit at ANY living thing that dared come in her yard.  But, she was just sitting there giving the possum a bored-bouncer-look like, “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing at my back door?”

I call Husband over for his Jim Fowler-like knowledge who immediately jumps between me and the door to get the Fluftagus inside and inspect her for bites and, apparently, rabies.  Fluftagus thinks she has done something wrong and immediately assumes the “I’m sorry ears back tail tucked under” position. 

Fluftagus is fine because WE CAN JUST TELL BY LOOKING.

Husband informes me I cannot go outside while the vicious baby possum is staking out the back porch and I begin to visualize THAT conversation with my boss.  Decide the truth is better than any lie I could come up with and now willingly play along with Husbands wilderness scenario.

Husband goes to get a shovel (a SHOVEL?) while I stay inside searching for the digital camera because I am going to have to get a picture of THIS.  I try to take a picture through the glass but end up blinding myself with the flash and getting a crappy picture.  Sorry.

Possum walks in circles bumping into things while biting the air repeatedly and it becomes apparent he is no threat to anyone.  He toddles away looking for his mother who clearly abandoned him and will send him into possum therapy for years.

Final check of yard and I am can get in the car.  On my way… wave to co-worker on the road… more XM Radio fabulousness… get here in time to RIDE THE ELEVATOR UP WITH MY BOSS.

Didn’t need the possum after all.