My Outdated Woodchuck Lore
which is really my finger- roommate is tracking your pee schedule
- saddest rendition of 12 Days of Christmas
- some kind of caveman toilet
- shoveling eggs into your gaping maw
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My outdated woodchuck lore was of little use to me now, and likewise my infallible direction finder, which is really my finger after I apply a bit of saliva, meant nothing when we had tracks to follow through the snow. But if there’s one thing they drill into you at the Academy, when the librarian is siccing ninjas on you to collect late fees and your roommate is tracking your pee schedule for purposes you don’t care to understand, it’s how to persevere in a desperate trek on improvised snowshoes.
To keep our spirits up as darkness fell, I began the world’s saddest rendition of 12 Days of Christmas. I was up to “11 ladies glancing away in remorse” when we abruptly reached the end of the trail. The foul photog’s footprints just stopped.
“Did you see a helicopter,” I asked Tessa, “or a really, really big owl?”
She shook her head, then pointed to the left. In the shelter of a copse of fir trees was what looked like some kind of caveman toilet. It was unoccupied, but surely seemed to be the best clue available. So we approached it.
“I bet you wish we were still on that boat,” she said.
“Nah. I wish we were on a cruise ship.”
She snorted. “I can just imagine you at the buffet, shoveling eggs into your gaping maw for hours on end.”
bonus points for using them in order