|"I don't care if you starch your shirts. What I need is a man who can punch snakes in the face."|
Forgive me. I meant to fill you in on all things Kellerman yesterday, but, you see, I was still letting the shock wear off.
Shock from what?
False security, that's what. "Send them into Nature*," Husband says. "There's nothing out there." "What are you so afraid of?" "Sharks don't live in really deep puddles."
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Readers, you all know myself and the outdoors don't get along. As in, don't take me camping unless you want to carry me around on your back the whole time, and accept the possibility I will climb you like a tree frog at the first sign of danger. But, lately, I've been trying hard to not to pass my paranoia to my offspring and let them cavort outside, communing with all things dirt-caked and bark-covered.
For, just as I'd begun to throw my arms wide and wave pleasantly at passing ants, Butch and Sundance marched up to me and presented ...a snake.
|Event as it is recalled by me.|
As the sudden realization that the two-foot-long, black, inch-in-diameter horror was not a toy set in, I did what any rational person would do, and started screaming things that didn't make sense.
"Mama. Look what we found."
"Drop it. Drop it, right now. Drop it before we all get rabies, the house caves in and we all die."
"Look at it mama."
"Children. Put down the snake. Snakes bite. Oh Lordy, they're coming for us. Board up the windows. Board up the windows, I say!"
The snake, which I'd by then calculated to be roughly thirty feet long with venom dripping from fangs, was promptly dropped in the grass, the twins whisked inside to be thoroughly washed down, and careful observation of the specimen commenced from the kitchen window.
We were never going in the backyard again. Who owned a backyard? Not the Kellermans.
Thankfully, Grandpa showed up just in time to declare the beast dead, tag it and bag it. After a careful investigation was conducted, the following facts were extracted from the twins:
Flea brought them the snake.
The snake was talking.
The snake wasn't moving when they picked it up.
I've decided that two out of three of those things is probably true. But you're still not going to see me go camping.
*Nature is capitalized on this blog because it scares the crap out of me.
Until Next Time, Readers!