This weekend Marc and I went to Concord for its annual street festival. It’s always a lot of fun. We got to see tons of crafts and taste food from around the world while working on our daily 10K step count. Win, win, win.
Lucky, lucky us, we arrived right in time for the reptile show. “Look” said Marc as he pointed to a crowd.
I looked, but didn’t see much more than a group of people. Then all of the sudden, like those 3-D pictures, the underlying message suddenly popped out. There was a guy standing there with a HUGE snake around his neck. My heart immediately started beating faster, my voice got higher, and my legs prepared to run (when it comes to fight or flight for snakes, I’m definitely in the flight category.)
“Will you take my picture?” Marc asked me. I figured I could do that for him as long as I stood a few yards away, after all I am a grown woman, right? It was only after I said yes that I realized there was ANOTHER SNAKE just to the right of me. I was surrounded by snakes and my husband wanted me to take his picture.
“These aren’t the ones that bite, these are the ones that squeeze you to death,” he said trying to comfort me.
Oh. Fantastic.
I managed to take his picture and then I had to immediately leave the area. Flight finally won.
Many years ago, I had read an article about a guy who was driving his car on a highway when a bunch of little snakes were born (hatched? don’t know, don’t care) inside his car. As he was driving, suddenly little baby snakes appeared all over the place.
That story was the story I used to scare my kids into behaving. If you don’t pick up your clothes, baby snakes will hatch in our car. If you don’t do the dishes, don’t blame me when you sit on a baby snake in the car.
It is my worst nightmare.
I’ve always said that if my car suddenly filled up with baby snakes that I would calmly (yeah, right) get out of it. Call AAA and have my car towed to a local lake where they could then push it in. Once touched by a snake it’s no good to me.
Time to get a new car.
And here is my husband with a F*CKIN’ boa draped over his shoulders.
Just sayin.
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Wendy Thomas writes about the lessons learned while raising children and chickens in New Hampshire. Contact her at [email protected]
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