I think that what happened to me today on the way home from campus (as I frantically prepare for classes to begin. Sigh) proved that definitively and without a doubt that I am cursed. Yep, abso-fuckin-lutely cursed. I’m beginning to think very very seriously about finding a shaman or a priest or some other kind of spirity hobamajiger for help with this situation. It’s becoming a real issue.
What happened, you ask? Well, I get to chalk another one up on my Roadkill Bingo Scorecard, and this time I hit it big! No average possum or chipmunk or sparrow this time. No way, I finally got exotic and hit one of these on the way home from campus today:
I just KNOW that there is a special place in hell for those of us who kill critters as beautiful as this. Clearly there’s gonna be a whole separate room down there reserved just for those assholes who decided that EVERYTHING has to have a whole extra plastic “safety seal” surrounding safely sealed plastic containers, with a special seating section for the jerks that are STILL buying Hummers in this environment and economy, and a separate side wing for those nitwits who kill Indigo Buntings. I mean, the cool name alone is enough to let you know that they’re not just your average bird. When I saw the flash of vivid blue, Indigo as it were, as it flew under my tires, I just knew I was screwed.
[Although if I’m honest, I think what I said at the time was: “NO FUCKING WAY!!! YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!! ANOTHER ONE????”]
So do you think if I got some priestess-ish type of person to burn some sage and say something in latin or piglatin or esperanto and anoint me with frankincense and chicken broth or something that it would stop this madness? I mean, really, I think I kill something every third trip out there. That is just fucking insane. Do ordinary people kill this many animals while driving, or is it just me? Or is it just that I notice? That I happen to look back and see the little blue schmear on the road and take a moment to decide whether or not to stop and try to revive said little critter with mouth-to-beak resuscitation?
And I also do have to wonder — is it ME or is it the CAR? While the preponderance of hits in the Flaming Subaru of Death have been on my watch, a couple of weeks ago we were coming home from a day trip to a town near the college and were driving on the same road and Spousal Unit was at the helm, when SPLAT – he hit a bird. I think it was probably a swift or some other type of diving/swooping bird, it just swooped its little self right under the wheels. He was pretty upset. I confess that I laughed, and said something like “Aha! It isn’t just me!” But maybe it’s my car? Maybe it isn’t me, but the car that is cursed.
I think before I go to campus tomorrow I’m going to call my pagan friend and have her do an exorcism and send all the spirits of those suicidal chipmunks who are clearly calling out to other critters to join in the fun big spirit party that is haunting Stewgad’s Subaru and have her send them back to the nature from whence they came.
And if that doesn’t work, I swear I’m gonna trade that fucker in for a Hummer.