Possums, my friends, are scary little creatures. They have really sharp teeth, a thick spiny tail that wraps around things, and apparently they hiss. Hiss! Like a Carlton with a stolen candy bar.
It all started when I was a kid and had a dream about a mama possum and her babies hanging from the tree outside my dad's house. They were swinging on their creepy tails and they attacked me. Absolutely petrifying. Being that I'm from the country, possums are a very real reality. I have seen many in the form of roadkill on the side of the road ... and yes, I feel like a dick admitting it, but I do cheer every time I see a dead possum. One dead possum means one less possum to attack me. I have also seen possums that are alive. This causes a bit of a traffic danger, as I swerve, cry, and generally flip out. Not so safe, possums. They may be connected to the police so that I can get pulled over and get in trouble. Just a thought. Damn you, possums!
I received a message from a dear friend and sorority sister, whom I'll call 'Jessie Green' a few days ago regarding possums. You see, my sorority sisters have not only made me laugh until I cried (about a million times over), comforted me during my times of need, and gave me an amazing cause to stand for ... they also realllllly like to remind me of my possum fear as often as they can. The message from 'Jessie Green' is below:
First of all, who the EFF would live in effing Possum Valley?!?! Seriously!!!
How kind, sister 'Jessie Green'! I never look at a spider and think "who can I torture!" or sit alone in my bed in the dark and think "ah ha! let me remind XYZ about this!" But really that's because I'm a saint and not everyone can be as lovely, caring, and charming as Cat Lady.
I went to school in Virginia and most of my sorority sisters/friends had to travel north to go home for breaks. On average, there would be about 1-2 roadkill possums on the side of the road on the drive back home. I would notice the dead carcass, scream bloody murder, and then cheer (remember: one less possum to attack me). However, it wouldn't end there ... I would get at least 10 texts (and most of the time it would be a lot more) regarding said 1-2 dead possums. Apparently a dead carcass reminds all of my best friends of my crippling fear. How kind!
Additional stories from my "best friends" who tortured me throughout the possum years:
- In high school, my friend 'Lauren R' kept egging me on about this amazing birthday present she was getting me ... for months. I am terrible with surprises (note: I absolutely hate them and demand to know all secrets) so I kept begging to hear what this great prezzie was ... for months. The prezzie? A stuffed possum. I cried. A lot.
- Additionally, my sorority sister 'LP' had a really terrific boyfriend (by any other standards other than possum-related) who happened to put a big ol mean possum picture on my desktop. Not the best sight to come home to. Thanks, 'Evie,' I really appreciate the gesture.