DEAD ARMADILLOS DON’T DANCE, by Kari WainwrightRain slashed my windshield. My headlights barely pierced the dark night.
Lightning zigzagged through the sky. In that moment, I could clearly see the country road and the small armored animal crossing in front of my car. An armadillo. He jumped three feet into the air, as I frantically swerved around him. My car fishtailed, spun around, and slamdunked sideways into the deep ditch by the side of the road.
My head thudded against the window. My body slumped against the driver-side door, held in place by a now-taut seatbelt.
I was surprised the air bag didn’t go off, but maybe, going in sideways, rather than head-on, had saved me from getting whomped in the face and torso.
Indulging in a brief moment of self-pity, I wished I’d stayed home in
