I gotta know

This afternoon my son Brian gave a friend a ride to the restaurant at which they both work. A short time later he was back at home and changed into jeans and a discardable t-shirt. He came in our room excited, hunting a flashlight. Hmmmm. It's broad daylight and a hundred degrees outside.

I've learned not to ask, but he told. There was a stench coming from underneath the patio of the restaurant. Even the waiters were refusing to work the area. The restaurant manager was going to pay Brian fifty dollars to crawl under the patio and remove whatever was causing the odor. I suggested he also take gloves and maybe a rake. He assured me he was "on it, Mom."

At 9:30 this evening I couldn't stand it any longer and called him to find out what happened. He was at a friend's house watching a ball game. (Insert exasperated sighs here.) He did indeed crawl under the patio, find the dead opossum, and prudently insist his boss call animal control to get rid of it.

I guess I should be glad he showed some common sense.

But I still don't know if he got any of the fifty dollars.