Macbeth. Act V. Scene 1.

Lady Macbeth: "Out, damned spot, out! I say..."

Spots.  Spots of blood.  Spots of grease.  Spots of mud.  Spots can tell you a lot about what has happened, where, how and many times who as well.

So, Scarlett went down to see her mother today which she kindly told me about so that I could go to Tara and hang with Salty Dog for awhile.  I also suspect our looming settlement conference had something to do with this change of heart in her but whatever works.

I timed my arrival for about an hour or so after I'd knew she'd have left and when I got there, opened the garage door where I knew I would see Salty Dog patiently waiting for someone to come.

He saw me come in, wagged his tail but didn't make a move to leave where he was sitting on the garage floor.  So I walked over to him, sat down and told him how happy I was to see him.  He looked behind himself a bit and my eyes followed his head movement.

Huh.  What's this behind you Salty Dog I asked.  It was a spot of motor oil.  Odd.  Salty Dog was sitting where my car would've been parked but it hasn't been there in quite a few months.  Yet, here was a drip of motor oil.  Fairly new.  And obviously not from my car because I always backed mine in.  This drip is where my trunk would've been.  Last I checked, my trunk doesn't take any oil.

Strange indeed.  How did a spot of motor oil get into my garage, in my parking space, 180 degrees from where my engine would have been?  Wait a minute, Pecker doesn't have a car but Mr. Mercedes (aka Arnie) does.  Hold it though.  The last time I saw Arnies car it was parked in my driveway.  And Scarlett, had indicated to me that it was over between them.  Things just get stranger and stranger....Scarlett wouldn't be fibbing to me now would she?

So I thanked Salty Dog for pointing out this enigma to me and wrote dear Scarlett a note merely asking whose vehicle was dripping oil in my parking space.  And as though things weren't weird enough, when she got back and called me to ask what I had done while I was over there, she made no mention whatsoever of that spot.

Anyway, to continue with Sir William Shakespeare's play, I felt as though I was the doctor at the end of this scene -

Doctor: Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds  Do breed unnatural troubles; infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets; More needs she the divine than the physician.

Thank you Bill, I couldn't have said it better myself!