How Vehicular Squirrel-Slaughter Fled My Mind

Have you ever done something quite dumb or embarrassing by your standards that you thought everyone would notice, but in reality, no one probably would?

Well, yesterday, Jeff stayed home with Scarlett while I took Gideon to church. Jeff had been having sinus/allergy trouble and Scarlett was still in recovery from a bad cold, so he gladly pulled the short straw. I got myself all dressed and ready to go. I put on a pretty dress my mom sent me, threw on some tights she’d given me on the last trip home (she likes to keep me stocked up in socks and tights), put on my heels, wrapped up in my thick sweater and headed out with Gideon in tow. It was cold but not miserable. The sun was shining bright and I was happy to be going to church.

10 minutes down the road, I saw a squirrel dash out into the road. I slammed on my brakes, but it was too late (or too soon). I felt the bone-crushing thud as my tires ran over him. I was sick; I had never run over an animal before, unless it was one so small I didn’t know about it, or it was already made mush by someone else. I thought about pulling over, but I had nothing with which to move the poor soul from the road. I kept on and the guilt plastered my heart. My eyes welled up and I was moments from ruining what little bit of makeup I had on. All I could think of was, “I’m going to church with blood on my hands, innocent blood.”

I know. Save the drama for your mama. People run over small animals all the time, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I was just sick about my accidental animal slaying (what’s the official term for it with a car - - vehicular manslaughter - - or in this case, vehicular squirrel-slaughter). Why did that little guy have to run out at just that moment? Why couldn’t he have waited just an instant or two more? Why couldn’t he have been a slow squirrel or have a bum leg or a sprained toe? All of these thoughts, plus the terrible sound of wheels on bone and body kept crunching through my mental reel.

I pulled up into the preschool parking lot, got Gideon out, and to my immediate horror, I saw something which made all thoughts of the dead squirrel flee. I was now consumed with self.

My outfit, so carefully thrown together (no, it didn’t have blood spatters or anything on it), did not match. My black shoes, black trimmed dress, and black sweater so obviously midnight black did nothing to mask the fact, right there in the bright sunlight, that I was wearing bright navy blue tights! This, yes this...this... fact filled me with shock and dismay enveloping my mind and robbing me of peace. I rushed Gideon through the doors, ne’er pausing to say hello to anyone, except a brief mumble, in case they noticed, which now, I realize, they probably wouldn’t have. We rushed into the ladies bathroom where I whisked the offending tights off, held them up against my sweater, confirmed their odious color, and decided that my dry, ashy (but clean-shaven) legs were preferable to mixing blues and blacks.

With that, I completely forgot about the squirrel and didn’t remember until last night.

***

Oh, and P.S. For Madame VA Beach Kate, the names we have decided upon are as follows: for a girl (Lavinia Anne - - our grandmother’s names - - or Alexandria Joy - - combo of my brother and when I lived in Alexandria, VA and Jeff's mom's middle name) or boy (Ezekiel Vann - - and call him Zeke - - our favorite OT prophet and my maiden name).