Last night I went for a walk with @jennchristman down by the river. Instead of just walking back and forth on the Big Dam(n)Bridge, we kept going into Burns Park along the banks of the Arkansas River. It was a gorgeous night (see sunset pic for proof) and even though it was a little humid, it wasn’t unbearable. Besides, humidity is good for the skin. Why do you think I look so hot at 40?
As we were solving the world’s problems (for example: Rachel Ray needs a new stylist in a major way, Rock of Love was totally underrated, and we should all talk like Caroline from Real Housewives of NJ) there was a rustling in the high grass over to our left.
It was a tiny little thing rustling around and at first I thought it was a puppy. As I approached the little animal, I quickly saw the shock of white down the middle of its black fur. No, this was not Rover, it was Pepe Le Pew.
“Back away slowly from the skunk. I don’t wanna take a tomato juice bath tonight.”
“Seriously? Tomato juice?”
“Yeah. I think. Or lemon. Or maybe it’s vinegar. I dunno. I just don’t wanna bathe in whatever it is you have to. Skunk Funk is not a fragrance I’m willing to try.”
“I’ve never seen one live. I mean seriously, they’re all dead and stinking up the roadways.”
“I’ve never seen one not in a zoo.”
After 45 minutes, we turn around and go back toward the bridge. Our conversation has moved toward more serious topics like the pros and cons of saving some calories for booze instead of cutting out booze all together, Jazzercise is still alive and kicking, weight training and the hot dudes who offer to ‘spot you,’ and how to get rid of the world of all mean people. (We have a plan, so if you’re mean, get ready.)
That’s when the attack started. Out of nowhere these stupid giant horseflies started dive-bombing us. One hit me in the ear and I’m pretty sure I have hearing loss as a result. They quickly left me alone though and started chasing Jenn. I guess she smells sweeter than me because they were all about her. There were three of them, all were huge, at least an inch long, and landing on her back and buzzing her head. Finally I told her to hand me her awesome ROCK OF LOVE baseball hat and let me swat them. I defended her honor. I was her white knight. I’m officially the butch in our friendship. That’s okay with me. I’m the cutest butch ever.
“I hate nature.”
“No you don’t.”
“I totally hate nature.”
“Shut up.”
“Tell me you hate nature, too.”
“Nope. I love it. I could pitch a tent right here, and pee in the woods.”
“You totally are the butch.”
About five minutes later, there was another rustling and a group of folks was gathered around a tree. I thought maybe it was an Opossum but no. It was an armadillo.
“I really hate nature.”
“Seriously! We’ve seen two animals LIVE that
usually we only see dead. That’s awesome.”“Nature sucks.”
Our walk was an hour and a half long and apparently sponsored by Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.<–and if you don’t get that reference, I’m too old or you’re too young. I’m going with the latter.
Bitchin' Fiction: Musings by author Melissa McKenzie / Melissa Francis 
