I walked out onto the deck last night, with the Poopy Puppy trying to follow on my heels, as usual. Instead, I body blocked him. Sliding open the doorwall (excuse me, those of you who don’t live in Michigan….are you familiar with the term doorwall?), I caught the distinct aroma of Monsieur Pepe LePew.

The dog? And the skunk? Reminded me of a particular work day from last fall. Let me tell you about it. (Because I just know that the crap that happens to me stops you from thinking about the crap that happens to you. And I’m nice that way.)

One of the things you get to do as a financial business Hotfessional is speak in front of groups. It may surprise you that this doesn’t bother me. I know that some people would rather tell their father about their first sexual experience or lick the underside of a car than stand up in front of 100 people, but me? Not a problem.

(Do you think there’s a correlation between that and the fact that I started a blog?)

So. I was scheduled to drive about 60 miles to perform present our new Strategic Plan. I was delivering the muckity muck’s senior executive’s-view portion, which really meant that I would introduce videos and read power point pages, but at least I wouldn’t be a sobbing puddle of goo on the floor at the thought of standing up in front 45 Vice Presidents. People tend to stare at the deliverer of the message instead listening when that happens.

My game plan was to go to my usual office (the one that is 2.2 miles from home), pick up my presentation materials and attend a quick conference call, and then head up the road (did I mention? 60 miles?).

That morning, I woke up as usual. Stumbled to the shower. On the way back to the bedroom Mr. Hot handed me my cup-the-size-of-Rhode-Island of coffee. I sat on the bed to watch the news. And try to become coherent.

(Yes, this is my daily routine. )

About 20 minutes later, it dawns on me that the dog isn’t in bed. I haven’t been nose-bumped or rabbit-dream kicked. I haven’t spilled coffee all over myself when he decided to change positions and ram his butt into my elbow.

Hotfessional: “Honey? Where’s the dog?
Mr. Hot: “Oops. I left him outside. I’ll get him.”

Five minutes later, I am drenched in coffee as 32 lbs of Chocolate Lab-trapped-in-a-Daschund’s-body jumps onto the bed.

Hotfessional sniffs. “Oh. Oh fuck no!”
Mr. Hot: “What?”
Hotfessional: “Do you smell skunk?”
Mr. Hot: “Now that you mention it, yes. Must be out front.”
Hotfessional: “No, come in here. Smell the dog. Do you smell skunk?”

The smell was so strong, so heinous and horrible, that my eyes should have been watering and the dog should have been wet. He should have been dripping with eau de funk. But, no watery eyes. I tentatively stretch out my hand. No wet dog. Sticking my nose into the dog’s fur did nothing to increase the smell. Gave the dog the evil eye look. Didn’t look at all remorseful.

We finally decided that someone must have hit a skunk in the road in front of the house. Just then. With all of the windows open, the smell was really strong, but no stronger ON the dog than IN the house.

Shortman had driver’s training that morning, so while I continued on with my routine, Mr. Hot used my car to take him to school. The dog went too. That dog sure does love a car ride. Oh yes he does.

When Mr. Hot got home, I kissed him goodbye. “Did you see the skunk?” He hadn’t thought to look, but it smelled really bad while they were driving. Yep.

I got in the car, and turned the blowers on full blast. It was a little chilly on that fall morning. I could still smell skunk, but, obviously, since I had the vents open, there was a reason. Just a poor little bit of roadkill someplace nearby.

I walked into the building. People turned to look at me. Then they moved away, quickly. I moseyed on over to my desk, grabbed my presentation materials, looked at the clock, and knew I had to dial into this one, quick, call. At the time, I had no office. I was cubicle-bound, having just moved to this building. I couldn’t close the door.

Someone walked by and finally said it out loud. Announced it, like.

“Do you smell skunk?”

Like a prairie dog poking up from its hole, I popped up and glared at the loudmouth. I feigned outrage at the volume of his question and pointed at the headset I was wearing. Mouthed “I’m on a call, please be quiet.”

An eternity later (okay, it was 30 minutes, but when you stink? y’know? and are supposed to be a leader?) I grabbed everything and RAN out the door. My 4 minute drive home took 2.37. I flew through the door, pulling off clothing as I climbed the stairs to the shower. Screaming at Mr. Hot:

“It’s the fucking dog. I’m covered in skunk. And I have to go do this presentation in two hours! Take this! (throwing the Febreeze at him) and spray my car!”

After the fastest shower known to womankind (at least this particular womankind, who can easily empty a hot water tank), I am drying my hair (again), putting on my makeup (again), and getting dressed (again). The dog, the whole time, has been in my bedroom where the closet door has been standing open.

(My friends. Do you feel my pain?)

So, I get in the skunk-stanked car. Drive the 60 miles with the damn windows open. On the Interstate. In Michigan. In October.

When I got to the office, I pried my frozen fingers off the steering wheel, grabbed my presentation materials and walked into a room full of men in suits who wanted to watch my every move, and hang on my every word. And I stood up straight, and smiled and said

“Welcome to the Presentation of the 2007 Strategic Plan. I’m Hotfessional, and I’m a senior manager for the I.T. company. I’m so glad to see all of you here today.”

And they all smiled and looked at me. And I said,

“Please, do let me know if any of you are at all offended by any strange odors in the room. And if you are, please feel free to come up here and spray me.”

As I took out my bottle of Febreeze and put it on the podium next to my notes.

—- Because, you know, I am the Hotfessional, and the show, must go on. —-

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