Fresh off the phone with my gal pal and partner in crime, Tracy. I told her I had found what appeared to be a snake skin between my oven and refrigerator. I glimpsed it last evening, but not having my glasses on I assumed some kind of coil had dropped from my husband’s “closet” on top of our refrigerator. I dismissed it entirely, and headed up for bed. I have OCD, and while my house might not be the cleanest in America, it is definitely the tidiest. I spend my days doing laundry, picking up invisible lint on the carpet, and organizing each and every item in my home. Everything has to be just so-if not you can bet on me sitting on the couch and staring at crooked paintings or brick-a brac-until my husband screams Just end it! Fix it before you drive ME crazy too.
Friends, I have had a couple of days in which I actually began questioning my will to live, or at the very least my will to fight the bugs and vermin of this county-I give. Literally. Of course, when I found the skin, I did what I always do-sounded the red alert and ran screaming from the house towards my brother in law, who-miracle of miracles!!!!-happened to be cutting wood for my husband on his day off.
“Yep. Probably a snake.” (At this point, after having sized up my level of hysteria, he damn well knew it was a snake, just didn’t want me completely off my rocker) I think of jumping on his back when we walk back inside. No. Did the next best thing and jumped onto the chair in the kitchen.
“What are you doing up there?,” he laughed.
I tell him, nicely-or as nice as you can be in the middle of a nervous breakdown, to get back to work. Find this snake or else………..we were laughing, but my laugh had that tinny ring of madness-the kind you hear in horror flicks.
He rattles under the stove, under the frig, he shakes these two appliances with stunning strength, but makes no progress in detection. Heading outside, he smiles when I tell him I’ll scream if I need him. My scream is the stuff rural legends are made of-and not one person in my family, including my husband and in-laws (who by the way live across the street) has a history of actually acknowledging my fright. I once ran from the house when a small mouse jumped into my refrigerator. I was freaking out, and imagine it must have been hilarious seeing me, my long hair blown back-Medusa style, my then strong and lean legs carrying me right down to the pond, as fast as they would carry me, screams emerging from my throat every two or three seconds. My in-laws? They sat perfectly still, reading their evening newspaper, unmoved by my obvious terror. My husband? I found him drawing back his cross bow, target shooting.
“Jesus, honey. I thought you were being chased by a terrorist.”
Why didn’t you stop what you were doing, or, at least ask me if I am okay????? Is it normal in this town to see women fleeing from their homes like their hair is on fire? What the Harry? Belafonte? Oh the humanity.
SO, anyhooser, I awaken from my nap. I am up and vacuuming and then I see it. The two other feet of skin underneath my ice box.
“Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph!!!!!!! Holy spiritual warfare! Why have you forsaken me, God. Snake I rebuke you in the name of Jesus!!!!!!!”
So now, I’m back on the chair. Then down again. Every step I take is like walking through a mine field. My husband is home! Hallelujah!!!! Dwain will take care of this absurdity…….he will help his harried wife!
“Honey, I am not ripping the house apart for a snake that may or may not be in this house. I am sure it’s gone by now.”
Yes. It let itself out this morning, I’m sure. Just like the bat we had in the house for three weeks. And his response is even more horrifying when I realize that instant karma’s gonna get him. And it will be at two o’clock this morning, and surely at my own expense…….when I scream Hare Kari on my way to the bathroom.