qotd, my desk might resemble this remark
many things make a post

in which I admit I was wrong

Before I discuss the way in which I was wrong, I'd like to take a moment to talk about the dinner that the Featureless Saint and I had over the weekend at Craftbar, which was a belated birthday gift to myself. I have now had one bite of the most perfect grits and the most succulent pork belly I have ever had the pleasure to have had. While my fresh ricotta and veal meatballs and pasta were divine, the FS won the dinner lottery with his order. I tried to go back for a second bite but was afraid I'd be stabbed in the throat.

I can't blame him, mind. I'd do the same. It was that good.

I won the dessert lottery, tho, with an apple crisp that had a brown butter ice cream on the side. Yum.

We also took in a show, like grown-ups do. Tom Stoppard's Arcadia is one of my favorite scripts from my most favorite playwright. The current production did not disappoint, not even Billy Crudup, who I usually find oily and disingenuous. That works for him here. It's one of those plays that needs some time to fully digest and I'm not certain I'm there yet. But it was mostly stunning.

(Delia Sherman's review is here. While it's uncouth to simply say "what she said," I'm going to say that, especially her read on Raul Esparza and Lia Williams. Like Delia, I  have such a crush on Esparza's Valentine.)

And now for the bit where I admit I was wrong.

Prior to yesterday morning, we'd only captured a raccoon in the humane* trap. Oh, and the varmint pictured below, which I released shortly after snapping a picture.


Of course I made him wait until I snagged my camera. You would, too. Don't deny it.

This morning, however, it was proven to me beyond any doubt that the phantom possum is not, in fact, a phantom.


Said critter -- there is nothing you can do to make a possum cute, is there? - has since be relocated and released. I wish him/her well in his/her new life.

And I will now go tell our neighbor that I was wrong to have suggested that she was hallucinating.

As a bonus, a picture of the Boy taken by his sister that I found on my camera while unloading these:


Feel free to write your own caption.


* not the "human" trap as I'd typo'd earlier. 


Possum: Do not want.
The Boy: love to pieces.

GROSS! Possums are gross.

Just thought I would state the obvious.

Now ... what do you DO with it?

Oh, too funny. We once had a possum sitting outside of our building at work. Just sitting there on his/her hind legs looking like the official Wilson Center for the Arts greeter. We were so enthralled that we just let it stay.

Ah, the joys of working in the middle of a park.

Barney looks positively miffed.

The Boy looks like he could fly.

OMG! Adrienne! Look at Katie Granju's blog of April 17! I haven't read yours yet, so you may have already, but she has possums inside her house and pictures (under-the-bed pics!). Chill bumps on my chill bumps!

Retraction...Katie's possum was not under the bed, but behind the dryer...what a, um, relief. Yup. Relief.

As for kitty, at least he was trapped ALONE! E-oo! He does look surprised that his mom would put something out there to trap him like that though.

I suspect that Barney will get even at some point. I thinkin' either eviscerated mouse on my pillow or a hairball in my slipper when I least expect it.

While a possum behind the dryer rather than under a bed is better, I still don't want any possums at all, because, ew. I'm glad that ours has been packed away by the critter control guy.

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