As I'm standing in the shower, my second self starts chanting, "there's a possum under my tub, under my tub, ruba a dub dub....there's a possum under my tub..." as queer as this makes me sounds, see, there actually IS a possum under my tub. For days my husband has been devising a plan to lure him our after tearing the side of the tub apart. He, my husband, saw the prickly, fuzzy hand reaching out to him as he peaked through a rough tear in the side of the wall. Not to mention the ghost-like sounds, bumps, and knocks that mysteriously come through the wall.
When my kids were young we used to read them a book called, "There's a Possum Knocking at My Door at My Door." And gosh-dern it--there is actually a possum knocking at my tub! Once again--my on-going theory--you just never know!
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