Gracie, one of our black and white kitty-cows, heard something and was getting mighty upset.  S and I were sitting out on the screen porch waiting for the amazing thunderstorm that was approaching.  Suddenly, we heard it too.

S went running for the mag flashlight he keeps in the garage.  I shut off the rope and white Christmas lights we have out there.  Then we hunted down the sound, from the safety of the screen porch.  He wanted to go out there immediately, but I saw Old Yeller.  No rabies for us.

Finally, his flashlight scoped it out: a teenage possum.  You may wonder how we determined it was a teenager.  Simple really.  It gave us a sullen look and was nearly too lazy to climb the tree to evade us.

And the first words out of S’s mouth?

S: What do you want to name it?

me: Hilary.  (I don’t know why, it just came to me.)

S: Nah.  Did you see the way it hid in the tree?  We should name it Houdini.

me: Nah.  That name’s taken.  (Rachel had a hamster…well, you get the idea.)

S: OK.  Who are some of the other magicians?  New guys.

We quickly rule out Cris Angell on the grounds that he’s not just a mind freak, but a complete freak.  Then we decided against David Blaine.  (Sorry, dude.)  We looked at each other and said almost in unison, which we’re doing with frightening regularity these days, by the way, “Copperfield.”

So, welcome to our menagerie, Copperfield.

Here’s one of the Divorce Cakes Kelly sent me.  Thought this was…elaborate.  We’ll call it Option ‘A.’

This one seemed… funny…in a not too mean way.  (Some of the cakes were vicious, depicting death scenes.  Not my style.)

Let’s call it Option ‘B.’

Okay.  Now this one… I would have to revamp…a lot.  NO DEATH SCENE.  I’m liking the chocolate roses.  I’m thinking lone woman standing triumphant.  No mean phrases.  I’m not trying to down my ex.  We’re on good terms.   Our children play bingo together. We need to keep it that way.

So, with the changes I’ve suggested… we’ll call it Option ‘C.’

Time to vote people.  Remember.  Really, this is simply an excuse for me to eat another one of Vicky’s cakes.  And I do subscribe to the philosphy that if a marriage starts with cake, it should end with it, too.

Bon appetit!

Here’s the not so secret beauty ritual that Don and Cousin Ken witnessed.  What you don’t see is that Donna actually wrapped right over my face, and I was ripping a breathing hole at that moment.  Pretty, right? 

On the bright side, Donna is way hotter normally, too.