Told you so

There's a fridge in the garage. It's full of beverages. Sure it costs a fortune to run a fridge in the garage, but damnit, we like our drinks cold and the ice maker in the indoor fridge just can't keep up. So be it.

Anyway, I've been visiting the garage fridge for, ohhhhh, we'll call it "forever." But tonight, when I wanted to get a drink... several hours after the sun went down, I opened the back door. And stood there, looking right, then left, then right, then left like I was about to step off the curb to cross the street, cementing the fact that I am a moron.

No really, I am a moron. Because I'm barefoot, in boxer shorts (hawaiian print, thank you very much) and a sweatshirt (don't criticize my after shower attire, okay?) looking around for the stupid raccoon. I've already mentioned I've gone to the garage a kajillion times in the past month alone, and now, suddenly, the night we set the humane trap, I'm all skittish to go get a pepsi. Apparently I thought that my unusual technique of multiple traffic checks would protect me.

The good news is that I made a safe, successful journey to get my caffeine fix. (No, it does not keep me awake at bedtime. Enough with the stupid questions already.) The bad news is that I alerted my parents before I went outside, for fear I'd have a run in with the critter. Really, they were sitting on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune on the DVR. What did I think they were gonna do for me?

Because when I WAS out in the garage, before I opened the door (seriously, it's a household style door and not the roll up door. Didn't I tell you about stupid questions?!) I thumped it a couple times, and then let it swing into the wall behind it, to let whatever was there know I was coming. In case they hadn't paid attention at the traffic signal.

And then I heard the chittering sound. I stood still for a bit and listened, then turned around and trucked back inside all "come to the garage, right now, come to the garage right now come to the garage right now." Vanna was turning over some wicked letters though, and it took them about a dozen more iterations of me all "come to the garage right nowwwwwwwwwwwwww" before the parents got up. Of course I probably sounded like a squirrel on amphetamines I was talking to so fast, and it's almost tax day (Poor Dad. Hang in there! You're almost done being accountant for the masses!) so they were pretty much done moving around.

But they got up.

And trekked out to the garage, where I was waiting again, with my finger over my mouth in that librarian shushing gesture, and we all listened. More chittering. Lots more.

We've got a familyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy up there.

Which changes the whole ball game.

So now we'll take the can of tuna out of the trap and wait out moving day for the coons. No sense trapping the mom when the babies would just die, and then cause the need to rip out sheet rock, as well as throwing away everything in the garage.... wait. Yeah. Not even worth it for a clean garage. I hollered up to the raccoons and told them they had until June to find a new apartment, as I would not be held hostage for my midnight caffeine fix any longer than that.

Freaking raccoons! We live in the city! Over four million people, and still, we end up with raccoons in our attic. Vaughn, Brian, Bryson... you all can definitely say "told you so."