The Snake

A couple of years ago, on a humid, windy, Easter Sunday, the Texas temperature reached close to one hundred degrees. I spent the day at my sisters' house, for an egg hunt, with our grandkids. The kids hunted eggs, and played, until they had rosy cheeks and were too tired to function. I was glad when it was time to climb into my truck and head for home; I wanted a long, refreshing, bath.

I was wearing shorts and, immediately, the back of my legs stuck to the truck seat as I pulled out of my sisters' driveway. When the back of your legs are stuck to a fake leather truck seat it really hurts to use the brakes, so, I didn’t until I stopped, fifty miles later, in my driveway.  I noticed, as I peeled myself out of the truck, that my new neighbors were having a big barbecue in their backyard. My house sits farther back from the road and their backyard is adjacent to my front yard. A lot of folks were roaming around and they were all looking in my direction. They must have heard me scream when I had to put on the brakes. It seemed appropriate to gave them a little wave, so I did.

With a hot bath, and a nap, on my mind, I stripped as I walked through the house; I was naked by time I reached the bathroom. As I leaned, toward the tub faucets, I discovered a giant snake, coiled, and looking back at me! I ran into the bedroom, stepping high enough that my knees were knocking my double chins, and grabbed my comfortable, ugly, cotton gown. I shook it out, to make sure no snakes were in it, and put it on. I high stepped to the kitchen and grabbed a 55 gallon trash bag and a pair of kitchen tongs; I had a mission and it involved a hot bath, preferably alone.

Now, snakes are odd creatures. They do not like plastic bags and really do not like kitchen tongs. This snake was, in reality, only three feet long and about as big around as my index finger, but, to me, it was a boa constrictor! I wrestled with it for ten of the longest minutes of my life. It would coil around the tongs and I kept missing the trash bag when I let go of the tongs. I actually tried yelling at it to get into the bag, but, it must have been a male snake because it was not listening. When I finally got it into the bag, I shook it to the bottom of the bag. Once again, I high stepped, still shaking the bag, to the front door and threw it as far as I could. Unfortunately, that turned out to be about a foot from the front door since the wind was against me.

Forgetting that the neighbors were having a party, I high stepped across the front yard, biting my tongue a couple of times, and grabbed a pitchfork from a flower bed. I proceeded to attack the trash bag while the wind whipped my gown up around my waist. The bag stuck to the pitchfork tines. The Pope, and Brad Pitt, could not have talked me into reaching down and removing it! I grabbed the pitchfork, by the handle, and twirled, and twirled, and twirled, and then let it fly, bag attached, while letting loose with a mighty roar! It landed near the neighbor’s back yard. The party guests, once again, were all looking in my direction.

It was Easter Sunday, I was dizzy from twirling, almost naked, and had just mooned my new neighbors and their closest, and dearest, friends and family.

It seemed appropriate to gave them a little wave, so I did.