Day Two of the second camping trip of the year. Everyone had swum (what? is that even right?) until they could swim no more. Each had eaten his or her fill of whatever hot dog/marshmallow/snackity things he or she could put his or her grubby mitts on.
It was time for bed.
The Mister slept in the tent with us the previous night, but he had an appointment in the morning, and needed to go home. The five of us snuggled down in our respective sleeping bags, and The Mister kissed each of us goodnight, said goodbye and hit the road.
A couple of hours later, I heard the sound of unfolding tarps next to my head, outside of the tent. It had been threatening to rain, so we stacked our firewood on tarps and covered it all up so it would light. Honest to goodness, I thought someone was stealing our firewood. Why would I think that? WHO KNOWS. It was after midnight, and I’d been sound asleep. So I just laid there, because if somebody needed to have my firewood that bad, they could have it.
BUT THEN. That somebody sneaked into the screened-in area of my tent. And started going through my things. I reached for my flashlight, and as luck would have it, the windows on the doors between the screened-in area and the sleeping area were not zipped up, and I could see what was going on.
I did not like what I saw.
A skunk was eating cookies. Cookies that I made. I do not like to make cookies, people, I really don’t. Cake? Yes. Cookies? NO. I made a lot of cookies for this trip, and I stored them in a Tipperware container that clearly was left uncovered.
I slowly zipped the windows closed and laid back down on the air mattress. I tried to go to sleep, really I did, but as it happens, the cookies were crunchy, and skunks are noisy eaters.
FINALLY. I heard the rustle of tarps, and the skunk was gone. Peace and quiet had returned. I think I dozed, but only for a moment, and for no reason at all I opened my eyes.
Something was moving inside the tent. Except that I was laying very still, and the short people were all sound asleep, so really nothing should have been moving around the tent.
I saw it clearly as it walked between Jack and Miss O. THE SKUNK WAS INSIDE THE TENT AND IT WAS WALKING NEXT TO MY BABIES’ FACES. Precisely twelve million gazillion thoughts blazed through my brain. I know this because I was laying very still and counting my thoughts because I needed something to do so I didn’t FREAK OUT LIKE AN INSANE PERSON BECAUSE A SKUNK WAS WALKING AROUND IN MY TENT AND PLEASE, JESUS, DON’T LET THE CHILDREN ROLL OVER OR SNORE OR SNEEZE OR FART OR ANYTHING THAT WOULD CAUSE THE SKUNK TO SPRAY AND THEN WE WOULD GO BLIND AND DIE.
And because I was exceedingly awake by this time, I listened to the skunk exit the tent through the door that wasn’t zipped closed when A Certain Someone exited the tent earlier on his way home.
When I was convinced the skunk was really gone, and my heart had started beating again, and I could, you know, STAND UP, I gingerly stepped over my babies and zipped the tent closed. Then I texted That Certain Someone a message that isn’t actually suitable for print. He didn’t respond. Just like a man.