I do not like snakes. At all. My personal snake motto is that the only good snake is one with a shovel in its head… that someone else put there.
I have lots of scary snake encounter memories. I won’t regale you with them all. Suffice it to say they are many and horrific. No I’ve never actually been bitten by a snake and it’s probably a good thing. I would most likely just faint right onto the thing and it would eat me alive bit by bit.
I’ve run over them with feet, bikes, mowers and cars.
I do not like them. Even the ones that are small and supposedly harmless or that eat mice and other bothersome rodents etc. I would much rather have the bothersome “pests” than the snake. Every time.
So last night Grace was acting suspiciously and said she had to look for something in my room as she walked by obviously hiding something behind her back. I asked her what she was looking for. After a full minute of consideration she said, Pansy’s toy. Uh, okay…. nothing to see here.
I stayed up ridiculously late puttering around my office and when I finally went to bed I found the book in the photo above lying across my underwear drawers.
I went into her room at nearly midnight to kiss her goodnight and woke her up to tell her I had found her snake book in a surprising place. She just smiled sleepily and asked if I had screamed. I told her I didn’t scream but it did make me jump.
She just rolled over smirking and went back to sleep secure in the glow of a job well done.
Snakes. Why’d it have to be snakes?
Indie, that is a very good question.