Sunday, April 12, 2009
Happy Easter, everybody. Happy Passover, too. I didn't get my gelfite fish this year, but oh well. That's what happens when you stop dating Jewish boys, I guess.
Anyway, back to Easter. I think it's pretty solid, as holidays go. You have your miracle, the promise of spring and new life, and of course an abundance of sugary treats. When I was a child, we went further upstate to Glens Falls every year for a big buffet brunch with my grandparents. The restaurant looked out on Lake George and I can't remember the name but I do remember that they had the most awesome hash browns ever. My mom gave us tons of candy and overall made the Easters of my youth wonderful. I used to love Easter.
Until high school. And the skunk.
It was 1991 and I was fourteen years old. It was about 9:00 pm and we'd just gotten home from Glens Falls. My mom sent me and my older sister out to walk Molly, our Lhasa Apso. I had the leash as we walked along and then paused at the corner so she could sniff a patch of earth. The next thing I know, her ears go up and she bolts across the street and dives under the bushes in front of someone's house. We run over there, shouting her name and trying to find the leash so we can pull her out. I'm right up in the bushes, desperately calling to my beloved pet, when suddenly I hear a spraying sound. Then a whimper. Ellen is several yards away but hears the sound and shrieks. "Was that a skunk!?" The smell is descending upon me and my dog, who is now by my side with her tail way down. I begin to cry. Ellen starts laughing and turns around to run home, saying she's going to tell mom what happened. Molly and I trail after her, leaving a pungent waft in our wake. When we arrive home, the door has been locked because nobody wants the skunk odor in the house. Have I mentioned that I'm sobbing? My sister, on the other hand, is inside, hysterically laughing. My dad is laughing, too. So Molly and I sit on the porch while the family figures out what to do with us. My brother John is sent to CVS, because the emergency hotline vet said we would need to take a bath of tomato juice and douche. Yes, DOUCHE. If you think that's funny, picture my 18-year-old brother going to CVS at 10 pm to buy it. He may be as traumatized as I am by the whole experience.
That night, I took a tomato-douche bath with my dog. My father took pictures. My sister never stopped teasing me, and perhaps worst of all, my mother made me go to school the next day! Can you grasp how awful that is? The day she made me go to class with a fat lip pales in comparison. All day after the skunk attack I wondered if people could smell me. Nobody ever said anything, but I still worry about it. To this day, I'm pretty preoccupied with how I smell and in fact I just realized that I subconsciously chose the colors of my favorite perfume for this blog. That's deep trauma, people.
So now Easter is inextricably linked to skunks for me. Nice, huh? Well, I'm off to celebrate the day with my sister. She has two dogs of her own now. I love them both dearly, but I will not be walking either one tonight.
Posted by Catherine