Fear, Political Intrigue, Fake News and Poop

All of the words we are now using to describe the tumultuous and scary goings on in our country have finally arrived at Life in the Boomer Lane’s doorstep. 

Yesterday, LBL met a colleague for a working breakfast, then returned home. As she approached the front porch, she saw what appeared to be a pile of small dog turds, arranged into a neat pyramid. She stopped to make sure she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing. She did not, however, bend down to confirm.

While her life did not pass in front of her eyes, she did consider all of the blog posts, Tweets, emails, etc she had authored over the last two plus years, or specifically, since the date that Trump won the GOP nomination for President.  She also mentally reviewed the marches she had participated in, the rallies she had attended, the neighborhood protest she participated in to stop a gun store opening close by, and the organizations to which she belonged.

All of this together surprised her. It meant that she was far more actively involved than she had suspected, especially given the time she spent sitting in front of the TV, watching General Hospital, Project Runway, and Say Yes to the Dress. It also meant that she had, unbeknownst to her, had a large target placed on her back by those whom she had offended in some way.

She looked around to make sure no one was hiding in the bushes. She walked onto the house and headed straight for Now Husband’s study.  “Someone is after me,” she announced, with as much drama as she could muster. “They left a warning on the front porch.”

Now Husband tore himself away from the sailboat specs displayed on his computer screen and walked quickly to the door. “I don’t understand,” he asked, obvious concern in his voice. “What is happening?”  Had Now Husband been the gun-toting kind, he would have certainly been grabbing his weapon. As it was, the only collection he had on hand was hair gel, and he probably suspected this would not have sufficed.

He opened the door,  strode out to the porch and stopped short.  There was the pile, menacing as ever. LBL thought it looked even larger than it had before.  Now Husband inched closer.  Closer still, until he was right over it. He bent down.  He stood up.

“Squirrels,” he announced.

“Squirrels?” LBL repeated.  “They don’t like my Tweets?”

“Nuts,” he added. A squirrel was eating nuts. Nuts that had been buried in the ground and had gotten soggy over time. This is what they do with the shells when they are finished.”

“They make pyramids with soggy nutshells?  Are you sure this isn’t political?”

“No, it’s culinary.  Squirrels eating nuts.”

LBL bent down. Gingerly, she picked up what looked like a little blob of poop. It was squishy but didn’t smell. Sure enough, no odor.

“Look,” Now Husband added. They left a pile in the driveway, as well.”

LBL had to admit that she had been the victim of Fake News. Worse, Fake News that she herself had created.  She calmed down but did give one last look around the property to see if she could detect a tiny little red squirrel-sized baseball cap lying on the ground. Then she walked back into the house.  She felt as though she had dodged a bullet, even if the bullet had never excited anywhere but in her own mind.

But she still isn’t entirely sure that the squirrels aren’t fucking with her.