Is There a Husband in the House?

This afternoon while I was putting Marty's shoes and socks on, the girls ran outside to play. Moments later, they started yelling that one of the pumpkins was broken. I figured it was the work of the disgusting squirrels that live around here, but unfortunately it wasn't.

I have read articles describing the impending Halloween pumpkin shortage. Apparently the weather conditions are ripe for pumpkin rot. What I did not know is that I brought pumpkin rot home from the pumpkin patch with me. I have occasionally glanced at the pumpkins from afar to make sure that the squirrels haven't been eating them, but little did I know what was brewing.

Today, one of the pumpkins that had been sitting so decoratively on a chair, spontaneously erupted, disintegrating into pieces and dripping goo onto the ground below the chair. I now realize that a picture of that would have been more effective at demonstrating the disgusting disgustingness of the incident, but my first instinct was to knock the pumpkin onto the ground and hose off the chair (SAVE THE CHAIR!!! SAVE!THE!CHAIR!!!).



Ew.

And P-U

And if there was ever a time to resurrect the phrase: Gag me with a spoon



I got a shovel from the shed and scooped the pumpkin and several square yards of dirt into a trash bag (I've always wanted a moat by the house) that is now sitting by the curb awaiting Monday's pickup. I'm hoping that no fanged animals have a hankering for rotting pumpkin, because if something tears the bag open, I'll have no choice but to hire professional power washers to blow that thing down the street.