Transcript of phone conversation from two minutes ago.

"I just wanted you to know! I called the exterminator! There's a thing! In our garage!"

"Why are you out of breath?"

"I'm running in circles! So anyway! This thing must go! The exterminator is coming!"

"Like an insect thing?"

"OH NO NO NO! Like a big fuzzy gray thing! Big! Very big!'

"Can you stop talking in exclamations?"

"No! It's very big! Way up high, in the rafters, where it can drop on me! So I'm never going in there again!"

"Is it like a—"

"Probably a raccoon! Or a possum! Or a mutant raccoon/possum hybrid! I asked him if it was rabid and he laughed at me! I think that means no!"

"Okay, honey? I'm sure it's fine."

"He said it was $185!"

"What's a 185?"

"No, $185!"

"Oh, I thought that was like a code. Like, we got a 185 up here! We got a 324 situation in the garage. Like that! Ha ha!"



"I never wanted to live here. I hate nature."

"I think it was your decision, actually."

"He's going to set a trap. That means we have to call back when the trap is filled. It's going to be in the trap. I'm never going near the trap. Never never never ever."

"No one said you had to."

"I'm going back outside to get my stuff. If the raccoon eats me, you have to marry again. Henry needs a mom."

"I think I'll marry the raccoon. Then there will always be a little bit of you around."