Jack and I drove down to Tybee last night to spend some quality time with my mom, sister and nephews, see the St. Pat’s parade and enjoy a small “after-the-fact” birthday celebration.
My sister Pamela gave me my first gift this morning.
P: (dropping a mysterious metal object in my outstretched hand) Happy Birthday!
ME: Cool! A mood ring!
P: I prefer to call it an “external danger level indicator.” You get to wear it, but it’s actually more for your friends and family and other people you come into contact with. Ya know, since you don’t have a tail with rattles or the ability to shoot out ink like an octopus.”
ME: (thinking about how helpful it would be to be able to shoot out poisonous ink) Do you think I’m moody?
P: will you put it on before I answer?
11:15 am. That’s me! Calm, relaxed and loveable.
ME: What the heck? I don’t feel any different!
P: You don’t realize it, but you’re a ticking time bomb….And you need a manicure.
I wish there had been an “OMG! What the crap is THAT!?!?!?” ring color setting for when I opened the mini fridge downstairs in search of a Diet Pepsi.
This photo doesn’t do justice to the horror I felt at discovering that someone (hopefully not a family member) had defacated in the refrigerator.
(If someone is going to defacate in your refrigerator maybe it would be better if it was a family member. Although I can’t conceive of any explanation whatsoever to make defacating in any kitchen appliance an acceptable thing to do, whether you’re family or not.)
P: Do you think it could’ve been a leftover pizza at one time?
(And I thought finding a rattlesnake in my dad’s storage house freezer was a special kind of disturbing. Maybe this is a good lesson never to look inside any refrigerator or freezer owned by my parents.)
P: (after staring at the mysterious glob for 15 minutes)
“Maybe we should take it into the light.”
So we proceeded outdoors like scientists carefully transporting a decomposing tumor of Jabba the Hutt.
What was even more unsettling than the looks of the thing was the smell. Earlier in the day I’d wondered if there was a septic backup.
After interviewing various family members about their downstairs refrigerator usage over the past six months and consulting with the CDC, we were able to positively ID the remains. And thankfully it’s not feces.
(I’m really glad because having to ask someone if they defacated in your parents’ fridge is just sort of awkward.)
What do YOU think our mystery leftover is? Just leave a comment with your guess. The first correct entry will receive an authentic Dan Uggla bobblehead.