There is only one person who hates snakes more than my husband, and that would be my mother.
What did you say? A what?
My dad found Snake #1 in the bunk room. He tried to tell my mom it was a worm, and my mom was all like, "As if. Let me see that ACK WHAT THE HELL TOM GET IT OUT OF HERE NOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!"
I was lucky enough to find Snake #2. He was cheerfully sitting on the mantle, for crying out loud, watching us cook supper.
Dude, put lots of onions on my shishkabob.
Why exactly are there snakes on this plane in this cabin?!?
The kids promptly named him Squidgy. They should have called him Squirmy the Escape Artist, because he fell off the butter dish lid about 17 times before we got him outside.
Defcon 4! Dive! Dive! Dive! Away! Chutes open!
Cameron contemplates Squidgy, held by Daddy's thumb.
See my sister in the back? She has a funny look on her face.
Reminds me of the first time I peed on a EPT stick.
I was not sure what to think. And neither is she.
"Everybody listen up!
We have to put a barrier between us and the snakes!"
See me? I'm not screaming. I'm not panicking. I want to get the hell away from that snake,
and I do not want my children to touch it, but I am Calm in the Name of Scientific Discovery.
Father dear, why ever are the womenfolk standing on the tables?
When will our evening repast be ready? Will Mr. Squidgy be joining us at the table?
Squirm away, Squidgy! Be free!!
No. No, he would not be joining us for supper. Despite many loud protests from people under the age of 12, and much to the relief of everyone else, Squidgy was released back into the wild of Cowan's Gap. And we, very luckily indeed, did not see any more snakes in the cabin that week.
The bathhouse . . . that was a different story.
No comments:
Post a Comment