Rabies & Negligees

Believe it or not, I don't report every bit of mayhem that happens around this house. But some days just beg to be shared. Yesterday was one of those days.

I knew things were a little off when C, who had gone to bed dressed in her purple monkey jammies the night before, awoke the next morning wearing a rainbow colored Go-Go dress complete with black boots. Huh.

Things took another unexpected turn when she and I went outside to swim and were greeted by her favorite cat, Mango, returning from a hunt in the cornfields. She took off to pick up her beloved cat, just as I realized that something was terribly wrong with him. His mouth was gaping open in the look of a snarl and he was panting really hard.

Ask my family about my biggest fear. Rabies. It stems back to an episode of Oprah many years ago when a doctor said something I'll never forget: "Once someone shows the signs of Rabies, there is no cure." And with that, my world turned upside down and I, the stay at home mom, was given my mission. KEEP MY FAMILY SAFE FROM RABIES. They'll thank me someday, mark my word.

Fast forward 15 years to seeing my 5 year old joyfully run toward what I'm convinced is a rabid Mango. And in true big-screen-slow-motion-fashion, I yelled "NOOOOOO!!!" And then screamed hysterically when Mango turned his head and made direct eye contact with me.
Drama was clearly called for here, people.

I locked Mango safely away in the garage and immediately called my husband. Granted, this wasn't my husband's 1st phone call at work from me crying that one of our pets has Rabies, so he didn't exactly go on High Alert. I don't cry Wolf. I cry Rabies. Better safe than sorry.

C and I continued our day by the pool until it was time for a snack and some laundry. I peeled off my wet bathing suit and grabbed the closest thing to wear....my flowered, silk and barely there negligee....just until my flannel jammies were out of the dryer.

Now enter the Mail Lady. A little back story. For starters, she tried to sell us bed sheets out of the trunk of her mail car a couple years ago. She also has a habit of sitting in our driveway laying on her horn until I come out, no matter how long it takes, even if I'm with a massage client. Fun stuff.

My inappropriate nightie was barely over my head when the familiar blare of the mail horn sounded and I heard C open the front door.
Oh. My. Gosh.

I looked outside to realize the nightmare would only get worse. I had the safety cones set up across the driveway for when C plays outside, which means the mail car was parked all the way down at the end of our driveway.

She'd seen me, so it was too late to act like we weren't home. As quickly as I could without anything flopping out of my top or bottom, I made my way to her car, avoiding eye contact as I took the package, without explanation or apology, and then hurried back to our house while successfully ignoring the honk of approval from a semi driver as he passed.

When I got back into the house, completely humiliated, C said, "Let's open the garage and show her Mango."

Oh, let's not reveal all of our traumatizing freak show antics to the mail lady. We need to save some for the Amish.

• Update on Mango: As it turns out, a cat with Rabies bares a striking resemblance to a cat with a fur ball. False alarm. Carry on.
  

• And a quick thank you to the semi driver from the 40 year old mother of 4 who will take a compliment wherever she can get it.