So I'm home alone trying on my conference clothes from last year, trying to decide if I have to brave the mall for March's trip to the Southwest Florida's Reading Festival. There's good news and bad news. Good news, my little black dress still fits. Yay me. Bad news? I hear something outside and I'm alone. Still wearing the little black dress, I grab the Mag-lite and tiptoe out onto my deck in the pitch black night. I shine the light down on my driveway and find . . .
Yes, there's a big fat ass bear sitting in the center of my driveway, his legs straight out in front of him, my trash from the entire week spread out like a smorgesbord, and he's moaning in pleasure as he leisurely makes his way through it all.
And yes, I realize smoregesbord is spelled wrong and I don't care at the moment.
I'm still home alone, which means there's no Alpha Man here to set off a firecracker at the bear's ass and scare it off. I tried yelling and Mr. Bear just craned his neck and laughed at me.
Probably it was the little black dress and the tube socks and the wild hair. Apparently he didn't get the memo about the crazy writer on deadline, and how laughing at her is a big mistake. I marched back out there with a bottle rocket and the matches and I proceeded to accomplish nothing but nearly light myself on fire. So I gave up on that I Love Lucy adventure and went for my camera. Problem is, it's a pitch black night. No moon, heavy cloud cover and no starlight.
So you're just going to have to trust me when I tell you this dude is huge and he has an ass the size of a VW Bug. There's no way HE'D fit into last year's little black dress.