Last week, I mentioned Big Mommy shooting a skunk in her closet. Gather ’round, and I’ll tell her trugar. I wish you could hear it from her mouth, but I’ll do the best I can. (Family members, here’s your chance to correct me! Comment away.)
For quite some time, Big Mommy had been hearing skittering noises in her walls, and knew it must be “pole cats,” as she called them. We know them more familiarly as skunks. They were aggravating the stew out of her, so when she saw one in her closet–out where she could get at it–I think she lost her head just a bit. She grabbed her .22 and promptly shot that critter. “That got him,” I remember her saying to me.
Well, she may have gotten him, but not before he got her…or at least her clothes. She bathed in tomato juice and washed everything in the closet multiple times. She aired out the house, and (so she thought) rid herself of the scent.
Then she went to church.
Not until halfway through the church service did she notice the pastor, walking up and down the aisles, spraying air freshener as he went. Then, as she wondered what he smelled, it dawned on her that no one was sitting in her general area. It took her a while, but she did finally put two and two together. But my great-grandmother was dedicated.
She walked up to that pastor and said, “Preacher, that stink you’re sprayin’ for, well, it’s me. I shot a pole cat in my closet this week, and some o’ his stench must still be on me. Go ahead, spray me.” After looking at her, dumbfounded, for a few seconds, the pastor meekly obeyed. He sprayed her up and down with the air freshener, all the while mumbling apologies. She smiled, said, “That’s better,” and sat down to enjoy the sermon.
What stench are you bringing to church this week?