Sex Panther

So the Professor is reading night-night stories to Baby Lily when I decide to head downstairs for a smoke. I bring the dog with me so he can have an evening constitutional in the backyard. He barrels down the stairs ahead of me, snarling. I figure he's after one of the neighborhood feral cats that the Professor has been feeding in the back yard.

I get down the stairs, into the garage, and start towards the door that leads to our little yard, and I smell the worst goddam smell I've ever smelt. Iggy--that's the dog--comes back inside foaming at the mouth and kind of hacking, making this sound like "spak" and I don't know what to do so I yell for the Professor to get her ass down here pronto.

"I think Iggy just got sprayed by a skunk," I say and she comes down and sure enough that's what it was.

The Professor, before she went to Yale, came from some solid Okie stock, so she called up her brother. "Ya need to git ya some incontinent wash," he tells her. His coon hounds have been skunked a time or two, and he has cases of that stuff laying around because his baby mama uses it.

I head down to Walgreens to get some peroxide and incontinent wash and as I walk in I hear the security guard say "What's that smell?" and a person answered "It smells like a skunk" and I thought "Oh, fuck, they're talking about ME." So I ask an employee if he has incontinent wash, only I said it like, "Do you have body wash for old people who are, like incontinent?" and that poor fucker had to walk me to the aisle it was on, and he was trying so hard to be polite and not just run away retching. The stuff was located near the Depends Undergarments and all they had was moist wipes with Aloe for incontinence.

So I got the peroxide and cut out of there as fast as I could.

I get home and park and the Professor has started stacking things up in the driveway so we can wash down the floor and walls of the garage with bleach. We got the formula from some hippie website I looked up while holding my breath, because now the whole goddam house smells like Bigfoot's dick.

Long story short, we scrubbed down the garage. We'll probably get home from work tomorrow and it still smell horrible.

But I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Except maybe on Marty Schottenheimer.