You say “Satan’s Holiday,” I say “Cute-Kid-In-A-Chicken-Costume Day.” Hope you are all enjoying accordingly. Abe wants to be a sleepy dog, and we are fully supporting him. Be all you can be, I say. Like his road-commision construction collar? He struts around like he’s got a government job and people have to reduce their speed when they approach him. Arrogant, yes…but he IS a cool dog.
I’m working from home today because I have to end up downtown eventually and the desire to run over most people on the road forces me to consolidate my errands on a daily basis. It also means I don’t have to shower…and this is heaven for me. Who wants to start their day by being soaking wet? Call me crazy, but not me. Not me, I say again. I have red fleece socks on, pink and white pj pants, a brown Mr. Roger’s sweater, and a blue t-shirt…and I am productive, people. I am gettin’ stuff done. I am workin’.
And now the rest of the story: I regret to inform you that I will not be living on our beautiful property out in the woods that we purchased this summer with the hopes of having a Little House on the Praire life one day. Why, you ask? Oh, it’s very simple. Yesterday we found a snake.
A SNAKE. A faster-slithering-than-Katie-running, jaw-unhinging, rattle shaking, deceptively pretty, ominously quiet, raccoon swallowing SNAKE. That’s it. It’s over for me…technically, before it even started.
Now, you’re looking at this photo and you’re seeing Bob and Marli and Hailey and the evil one and everything looks harmless, right? It’s because they’ve been tricked by the serpent’s calmness. They’ve been taken in by the colors and the “cuteness” and the small size. I, however, am not so easily fooled. It’s not cute. It’s not small. It’s not even PRETTY, people. It’s a snake.
I used to teach in California before I was wooed by a West-Michigander and moved up to Yankee territory…and once a week the Snake Lady (she asked to be called a Herpitologist, but PUH-LEASE let’s call her what she is) would come for the evening program. We’d all sit in small circles and the instructors (that’d be me) were supposed to go up and get a snake and pass it around. It was supposed to be a learning exercise. It was supposed to help kids get closer to nature. It was supposed to be cool. I, however, was not fooled. It’s a SNAKE, people. No touching. No walking in tall grass. No wrapping it around you at the VMA’s. NoNoNO. I tried really hard, but I just couldn’t do it. In fact, yes, I screamed.
The Snake-Lady gently asked me not to come back anymore…perhaps I could help another way those nights? Oh, you betcha, Lady.
I am sad I can’t ever ever ever live with Curt out on the farm. It really seemed like a great place. I had hoped to have kids and let them run wild in nature…and have a garden and a cow named BlueBell…but now I just can’t.
I simply cannot be with the giant worms.