“That’s nice.” I said, only half listening while driving. Something about him finding a snake.
You’re bright, I’m guessing you already know the end of the tale, as it were. But it makes me feel better to share it with someone. And who better than you?
Later that evening, after having shuffled lumber, plywood, siding, and other assorted construction materials around all day, the only thing I wanted was a place to sit. Remember, this place is under construction. So it’s not like there’s a cushy sofa or anything. I plopped myself down in a camp chair. The one closest to the cooler. Sat there for a few minutes, stretching...relaxing. Contemplating the progress of the job.
I finally got up the energy to dig around in the cooler for something cold to drink. Twisted the cap off, took a long pull and set the bottle on top of the glass topped table on the other side of the chair. (I know, glass?? You’re saying. Well, it was here, so I’m using it.) As I released the bottle, I took a better look at the table top, making sure the bottle didn’t fall off. Once my gaze focused on the table, I shot right up out of the chair as if my butt were attached to a rocket. Emitting a girlie squeal, I ran for the nearest exit.
Would it be remiss of me to mention that the hero of this story wasn’t really keen on trying to get rid of this critter? We returned to the scene, and there under the table, in all his scaly black and yellow glory sat a young Ringneck snake. (By young, I mean small, as in I feel stupid for squealing small.) Head held high, in the traditional snakey pose, on alert. My hero picked him up, and calmly put him back outside where he belongs. The man gets kudos because he didn’t laugh within range. But he was sporting a broad smile as he walked away.
Rather anti-climatic ending, don’t you think?
Bloody hell. Any snake is cause for a big squeal from me. I probably wouldn't have slept that night!
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