Why we don’t have rubber snakes

If you are looking to remodel, I’m the girl for the job. That is if you want a new hole in the wall. At least that’s what my family says. They tested their theory a while back.

Daniel had gotten a rubber snake as a gift. I don’t know what kind of fool would buy a rubber snake but they did. And he brought it home. And hid it on my desk under some of my papers. Well, I needed something off of my desk and I was rummaging through my papers. (I have five kids at home, so the paperwork from school alone keeps me covered up.) I raised up one of those papers and there that thing was! I screamed, threw papers everywhere and ran, straight into the wall. If I’d had a little more room, I could have busted right through.

Then this spring, while mowing the grass, I spotted another one. Usually, the first time we mow, the riding mower never works. So I end up push mowing the yard. Well, this year, I had mowed about half of the huge front yard, when I saw something sliding through the grass in front of my mower. Normally, my husband says I can walk on water when I see one but since I had extra children over, who don’t really know of my irrational fear, I was trying to stay calm. So I pulled the mower back toward me, shut it off and half-walked, half-ran around the house to where my husband was. I calmly informed him that I needed him to get the gun and come with me.

At my house, I firmly believe that my health is much more important than the snake’s right to live. If they want to live, they need to stay away from me. Far away! Well, the dingbat, my husband not the snake, looks at me and says, “What do you need a gun for?”

Ok, so now I freak out. “I’m mowing the yard! And I come ask you for a gun! You know what I need a gun for!!” My need to stay calm and protect the children has fled. I just need him to understand that I need that snake gone!

He finally consents to get the gun. I grab a wooden katana, it belongs to one of the lovely children, and take him by the finger to lead him to the offensive object. We go out into the yard and there is no sign of the thing. He begins to tell me how it’s probably three counties away by now but I’m not buying it. I tell him that it went down a crawdad hole. He tells me that they will not go down a crawdad hole. I am determined to prove him wrong. So I leave the mowing until it’s dead. There is no way I’m going back out there without backup.

The next afternoon, I convince him to go back out there with me. He is unarmed, because he doesn’t believe that it’s there. I, on the other hand, know better. I have the katana and his finger once again. I tiptoe through the yard toward the hole that I’m convinced the snake is in. My wonderful husband is making fun of me with every step. We reach the spot where I left the mower. He says, “See, it’s long gone now.”

About that time, I look down and guess what is streaking between my feet. Yep, the snake that isn’t there. So I scream and proceed to wrench his finger out of its socket. He grabs the katana from me, I think he was afraid I’d beat him to death with it. By that time, the snake has slithered down the crawdad hole. Right where he said it wouldn’t go. Yep, I’m sooooo I told you so!!!  He is making excuses for himself. Like he’s never seen one go down a hole before. Yeah, right, he just wanted the yard mowed.

So, while I’m screaming and dancing in place, he’s examining the hole. Go get me the gas, he tells me. I’m thinking, “Gas, really? Get the gun and fill that hole full of lead!” But he reassures me that the gas will kill it in its hole. Ok, I’ll give it a try. I run to the shed and get it gas. I bring it back to him and stand back while he pours some in the hole. He then stomps on the hole, trying to cover it up. “Now, you won’t see that again.” He stomps it one more time for good measure and puts his hands on his hips. About that time, I screech. Yep, it came back up out of that hole and right up over his foot. He takes the katana from me and I won’t go into details but by the time he was finished, I was happy. He nursed his sore finger for a week, next time, maybe he’ll listen to me when I tell him it went down a hole.

About christyfarrisbooks

Writer of young adult fantasy, romance and humor. Mother of seven. High ruler of the Kingdom of Crazy. :D
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