Page 26 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

The rustling grew louder, and I immediately took two fast, graceless steps toward the outhouse, my flip-flops slapping the ground like wet pancakes. “This is it,” I hissed. “This is how it ends. I’m gonna get mauled by something weird while wearing freedom flappers and needing to pee. Amazing.”

Then, from the bushes, the enemy emerged. Two raccoons shot out, skidded to a halt, and just stood there, side by side, like tiny judgmental bouncers for the most cursed bathroom on Earth. I stopped short as they stared at me. Not knowing what to do, I stared back, my expression likely mirroring theirs.

I had a flashback to a meme I saw once:Raccoons that are out during the day are considered rabid. Avoid at all costs.And immediately, my brain screamed: RABID. THEY'RE RABID.

But instead of lunging at me and gnashing their possibly diseased little teeth, they waddled right past me, like I was an extra in their movie, and plopped themselves down in front of the outhouse. Then they just started drinking from a puddle. Specifically, a gross, suspiciously located puddle located right in front of the outhouse.

I cringed at the thought of what could be in that puddle. “Oh my God.”

Unlike me, they didn't give a shit as they slurped like they were at a spa.

I looked up at the sky. “Is this my punishment? Did I do something in a past life like steal a cursed amulet or talk during a movie?”

The raccoons kept drinking.

“Okay,” I said, pointing at them, “I don’t want to ruin your vibe or whatever, but I’m fairly certain that puddle is full of toilet water. There’s no plumbing under that thing. No pipes, no science, just a glorified poop pit and the hollow echo of every bad decision I’ve ever made.”

The bigger raccoon paused, looked up at me, and then went right back to slurping.

I covered my mouth. “You’re drinking shitty, pissy water, Steve.”

Yeah, I named him Steve in the moment. It felt right.

“Steve, buddy, please. You’re better than this.”

Steve was not better than this, and neither was his friend.

I stood there, completely frozen, my flip-flops refusing to commit to either fight or flight, whilst wondering if this was going to turn into a Disney horror short where I had to negotiate with raccoons to use the bathroom.

That was when the cabin door creaked open behind me.

I didn’t even turn around. “Webb, the raccoons are back. They’re drinking piss water, and I can’t pee until they leave.”

There was silence, andthen his very amused voice chuckled, “Morning, crazy girl.”

“Don’t ‘Morning, crazy girl’ me. I’ve got feral wildlife hydrating on a biohazard and flip-flops that can’t be trusted in a crisis.”

“Want me to shoo them?”

“No, I want them to learn and reflect so they make better choices.”

I expected Webb to judge my mental health and sanity, instead, all I got was, “I’ll get the broom.”

By the time Webb returned with the broom—looking both concerned and like he was trying really hard not to laugh—the raccoons had vanished like mist and bad decisions.

“Where’d they go?” he asked, broom in hand like he’d just stepped into the third act of a nature documentary.

“They disappeared. Probably to go rinse their mouths out with river water and regret.”

Webb raised an eyebrow. “You good now?”

“Actually,” I hummed, suddenly inspired, “yes. I just remembered something from that rabbit hole I fell down online once.”

He waited, arms crossed, broom still in hand, like some kind of wilderness janitor.

“If they had rabies, they wouldn’t be drinking. Rabies causes hydrophobia, which is a fear of water, right? So, if they’re drinking puddle water, they’re not rabid.” I imagine that I looked incredibly pleased with myself for figuring that out.

Webb looked at me like I’d just told him I moonlighted as a bat whisperer.

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