2000-09-03
Dear Diary:

I am afraid of snakes. To that list you can add toads, assorted spiders and I'm not exactly thrilled to have to deal with any of the dead stuff that the cats drag in.

But I'm really afraid of snakes.

There are no, repeat no, poisonous snakes in this part of Canada so I am quite aware I am being a wuss. I know this. I don't care. I am afraid of snakes.

Look at the size of this freakin' snake.  It could have been a stunt double in that movie Anaconda. So this morning I have to go into the woodshed to get a gardening tool and what do I see sitting in a crack in the logs? A HUGE FREAKIN' SNAKE!

So I do what any right thinking adult woman would do when faced with an irrational fear.

I made my spousal unit go in the woodshed and get the tool I needed. It will be days before I hear the end of this. Fine. It's a price I'm willing to pay.

I didn't always have this luxury. When Jess was a baby I decided I wouldn't pass my irrational fears on to her, and as a result I gave a number of performances that really and truly should have garnered me an Academy Award. The one of which I am most proud happened when she was about two.

At that age she used to wake up at 6 a.m. I felt that was an hour suitable for birds and other creatures with brains smaller than walnuts, but I don't want to know about having to string together a coherent thought much before 7:30. So I used to let her crawl into bed with me, which bought me that extra precious 90 minutes of sleep every morning.

So I'm dozing and I feel the cat jump up on the bed. Jess is snuggled into me, making happy sounds and playing with something so I open my eyes. To my horror I see that she is absorbed in a dead mouse the cat has generously decided to share. A very dead mouse. A mouse with rigour mortis so complete even it's little tail is sticking straight out and rigid.

What I WANT to do here is spring out of the bed, flail my arms and scream a lot of incoherent things that sound like eek, ewwww, and ick. But this is my kid and I don't want her to be the wuss I am. So, heart pounding, I calmly tell Jess that a dead animal is not a great play toy, that they are covered with dead thing germs and she should throw it outside.

She asks me if she could paint it and use it as a decoration in her room. I tell her no, it will only get germier the longer it is dead, the good thing to do here is for her to throw it out. (Note that no where in that sentence is the idea that I might touch this FREAKIN' DEAD THING.) So to my great relief, Jess threw the mouse out and we practiced our hand washing technique. For a long time.

When she was young I also handled small toads that we found in our garden (insert retching sound of your choice here), and casually flicked off the odd stray spider that might land on my person, taking care not to hurt it (while deep inside I was yelling, "Die, die, die creature from hell.")

Well, now she is grown up and since I've actually seen her eat bugs, I guess she's probably escaped a lot of my irrational fears, so I suppose it was worth it.

Anyhow, I have to go and find the spousal unit.

SOMEONE has to put my gardening tool away, and it ain't gonna be me.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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