Okay, so, I locked myself out of my house on Thursday.
I didn’t just lock myself out. I locked myself out on my deck, after having worked out in shorty pajama bottoms and a sports bra.
Fine. It wasn’t a sports bra. It was a bra bra. Dark blue with stripes, so not like a white Playtex® Living Bra or anything. But still. I totally lied about the sports bra thing.
I just walked out on my deck for a minute. It’s semi-private. I wasn’t worried about stepping out for just a second or two.
The door knob was locked, but the door wasn’t shut all the way. When I went outside and pulled the door closed, well then, my two seconds outside expanded.
I sat in a chair under an umbrella and argued with myself.
You have no idea when Randy will get back. Joey is at work. You have no way of calling Randy. Let’s face it, you’re going to have to walk around the house to the front. In your underwear.
Nope. Not gonna happen. It’s nice outside anyway. And I need quiet time. Who doesn’t need some quiet time? I certainly need some relaxing quiet time. Fuck you. I am not walking out in front in my underwear.
Bullshit. You’re going to walk around the house in your underwear. And it’s not that bad. It’s pajama bottoms at least. Sure, maybe they are booty bottoms, but still. And the bra could totally pass as a sports bra. Kind of.
Yep. It’s going to happen. And you have to walk through the snake-y part of the yard in your bare feet.
I squared my shoulders, held my head high, and walked around to the back gate. The gate has a bunch of overgrown vines around it and it’s next to the broke ass koi pond. It’s goddamn snake heaven there. I am short and the gate is kind of tall and I couldn’t figure out how to work the latch and I had to duck under a bush to even get to the latch. I wondered if there was such a thing as bush snakes. Then I started laughing because “bush snakes” sounds funny. I also have the humor of a 12 year old boy.
So, I was alone, in my underwear, being outsmarted by a fence, and laughing for no apparent reason. Awesome.
I wasn’t going to run or slink. Fuck that. I would walk to my front door as if it was no thing at all to be walking around in my underwear. I tried to quell the thought that Randy might have locked the front door when he left. I decided, if that happened, I would just make myself as small as possible on the front porch until he got home.
The front door was not locked.
Randy got home about 120 seconds later. Normally, he would give me shit, but I would only remind him of the time he did the same thing. He was dressed, though.
Is that the end? Nope. I mean, it is the end of the underwear part, but it’s not the end of the backyard/snake part.
I went back outside, fully dressed and with my cell phone. I sat back where I had been sitting earlier in my underwear. I noticed something in the middle of the yard.
What the fuck is that? That’s not a snake. That’s a turtle.
Fuckity fuck. That’s not a turtle. That’s a coiled up snake. Goddammit. Fucking snakes.
I went inside and told Randy. He looked out the window and could kind of see it.
Randy: Did you see it move? Are you sure that’s a snake? Why’s it all bunched up?
Me: It’s just coiled up. Snakes coil. Coiling is common snake behavior. And I think I saw the head move. I thought it was a turtle at first, but turtles aren’t all black.
I couldn’t stop checking on the snake. It had it’s neck stretched up. Probably just taking in the sun. In my yard. In. My. Yard.
I fucking hate snakes.
Joey came home from work and I pounced on him.
Me: There’s a black snake coiled up in the back yard.
Joey: Cool! Where?
So we went outside. There was a bouncy ball by the deck left there from when the grandkids were here a few weekends ago. He kicked it at the snake, but that snake was motherfucking stoic. Or it was stoned and really into looking at the clouds.
Joey looked at me, looked at the snake and walked over and picked it up.
Here is the snake:
Pretty sure when Joey walked by me, I heard him whisper “dumbass” under his breath.