Coyoday

Tuesdays are worthless. They contribute nothing to the week. Even Mondays with that fresh-start feeling have a solid position. Wednesdays mark midweek, Thursday through Saturday are designated drinking days and Sunday is for lounging about with a hangover. But Tuesday? Fucking useless.

Yesterday was not only a miserable Tuesday but also cold, gray, and rainy. To brighten an otherwise dreary morning, I struggled into my new pencil skirt and was happy that it finally fit. Mostly. It restricts my leg movement making it necessary to take tiny, shuffling steps. Bending over is out of the question and I was seriously concerned yesterday that the skirt would split if I farted. But damn did my ass look fine.

I hobbled out to Beau’s busted red Chrysler attempting to balance my cup of coffee, purse, tote, and umbrella when Animal Planet attacked from across the street.

Before we reached the car, a large mammal barreled out of our across-the-street neighbor’s backyard. By large mammal, I mean a brown-gray canine the size of a German Sheppard. In the moments when its trajectory appeared to be pointed directly at us, I quickly weighed the options of fight or flight. Flight was impossible due to the skirt handicap so I resolved to encage in fisticuffs with a wild dog if needs be. Luckily, it veered to avoid us and went down the middle of the street towards some very surprised looking commuters before turning right at the corner towards the park. Once safely in the car, we concluded that it must have been a coyote since it was too big to be a fox, too small to be a wolf and much too wild looking to be a stray mutt. What it was doing in the Boston suburbs is beyond me.

The entire event took maybe 10 to 15 seconds. But, being Tuesday, that fraction of a minute was the most interesting thing that was going to happen so I spent the entire day dwelling on it. Eventually, I tired of Googling coyote pictures and thought that my entertainment had come to an end.

Instead, my brain suddenly snapped into hyper drive, I assume because my skirt was restricting blood flow to my legs and therefore, feeding my head with an increased volume of oxygen and Diet Coke. In the midst of the power surge, I remembered that the origin of the coyote was my neighbor's yard. This is the neighbor who left a nasty-gram on Beau’s car after the last snow storm. Beau returned late from work one night and found someone else parked in the spot he had lovingly dug out, so, with no other options, he took someone else’s spot. The next morning we found a note on the windshield that said something like “Dear neighbor - dig out your own parking space next time”. We crumbled it up and threw it in the backseat since these people are clearly tools, but if I can find it, I’ll post a picture tomorrow.

Anyway, with this in mind, I spent the rest of the afternoon fantasizing that the coyote took a massive poop on their porch or ate their youngest child. Or ate their youngest child and THEN pooped him out on their porch.

It was a good Tuesday indeed.