I think of this story everytime someone says there's more than one way to skin a cat.
My mom is the kind of person who looks elegant in blue jeans. The whole time I was growing up, she was very proper, strict, Miss Manners. I mean, I had charm school class..ick (it didn't take). Never cussed, always sat and walked and dressed and talked like a proper lady.
She told me this little interesting anecdote after I was grown. I still tease her with it occasionally (which she hates.) She grew up in Oklahoma for the first 10 or 11 years of her life. There was a boy on the neighboring farm she really liked. He found a dead cat (if you're squeamish,don't finish reading this post!)and was skinning it (can you say "ew!"?). My mom wanted him to like her, so she helped him skin the cat. I cannot for the life of me picture my mother skinning a cat. When I told her so and how gross I thought it was, she said, "Well, Laurel, the cat was already dead!" She really hates it when I remind her of this reply. lol.
footnote: she decided she didn't like the boy after all, because skinning a cat is a gross, messy, stinky business. Which meant the boy was a gross, messy, stinky business.
Cat skinning...nasty!
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