Skunks

The purpose of this blog is to give Elijah and Luca a semi exaggerated snapshot of their lives growing up. It makes sense that 99.9% of the posts are related to them and their bodily fluids. Occasionally, I like to expand the aperture a bit to include neighbors, friends and other bedroom community silliness.

This is one of those silliness…es.

We hit the jackpot when it comes to neighbors. Our northern border is occupied by our very best friends, Lexa and Chris and their daughters, whose names I refuse to learn how to spell correctly. The fact that Lexa drives Diana to get her eyeball shots every single month sums her up perfectly. Chris is the mellowest, yoga-est instigator you’ve ever met. His laid back, dulcet voice recently convinced me to ride a skateboard for the first time in my life, down Evanston’s largest hill. More on him later.

Our neighbors to the south are a hive of the cutest humans on the planet. The children sing gleeful songs on their back porch at 6am. I have never seen mom Kelly frown once. Ever. Paul is a dad from a bygone era. If I look over the fence, he is either building something for his children or teaching them how to throw a perfect spiral. He’s almost flawless. Almost.

Paul harbors an unnatural hatred for our local skunk population. Every skunk in the Chicagoland area got the message that Evanston is filled with pacifists, so hundreds of them strut across our yards nightly with Pepe Le Pew like abandon.

Where I merely request aloud they refrain from spraying our geriatric dog, Paul fights them with every tool in his arsenal. His yard is littered with lemons and limes, rumored to be a deterrent. Given how fat they all are, I assume the skunks are using them to make pies. Paul also purchased a gigantic flashlight to scare them off, powerful enough to illuminate Saturn from his back door.

Because we are bored and our children no longer want to hang out with us, Chris and I have made it our mission to torment Paul, skunk-style.

A year ago, we bought a stuffed skunk and placed it in the middle of Paul’s yard after dark. With the help of Kelly, we filmed Paul attempting to scare off the inanimate critter. Hilarity ensued.

Okay, time out. Yes, I know there are real problems in the world. Yes, I know it’s only because of our upper middle-class privilege that we can engage in such stupidity. But please let me have this.

When this year’s skunkvasion hit, Chris wanted to up the ante. A stuffed skunk no longer gave us the same thrill.

So we purchased two adult sized skunk costumes and stood in Paul’s yard dressed head to toe in hot black fur. When Paul looked out his back door, he saw two six foot tall rodents drinking bourbon and playing croquet. Why bourbon? Why croquet? Partly because Chris is a poet. Mostly because we hatched the plan while drinking.

Paul reacted the way anyone would: by pelting us with lemons and limes.

Now, when Paul points out skunks to his youngest (and more adorable) daughter, she responds, “Those aren’t skunks. Skunks are Rick.”