Snakes. This blog post contains snakes. SNAKES SNAKES SNAKES! Well…one snake.
You’ve been warned.
Oh. And maybe some dead rats too.
Now you’ve been doubly warned.
Still here? Okay, good.
So…we have a 10 foot long boa constrictor. And by we, I mean Kyle. And maybe it’s ‘only’ 8 feet…but does that really matter? BECAUSE THERE IS A GIGANTIC BOA CONSTRICTOR LIVING IN MY LAUNDRY ROOM!
It all started out so innocently. About 8 years ago, Kyle adopted this SMALL snake from another teacher at his school. Small. Key word here is small. He mumbled something about projected growth and lifespan but I was still in the throes of newlywedness where I thought that all of his ideas were adorable.
Oh foolish girl. If I’ve learned anything in my 9 years of marriage it’s that you don’t let your husband bring home questionable pets. Or pick out paint colors.
Back to the snake.
I was okay with it. I’m not afraid of snakes. It was going to live in Kyle’s classroom throughout the school year so it would only be an occasional visitor. I even named it. Apple. Get it? Garden of Eden. Snake. Apple. I love naming animals. That is why we have 2 newts named Fig and Sir Issac. Fig ‘Newt’on and Sir Issac ‘Newt’on. I don’t care what you say, that’s greatness.
Flash forward and I’ve now discovered that not only does she have a projected life span of 35 years but that because ‘it’ is a ‘she’, she will get even bigger. And Kyle is no longer a school teacher which means the snake now lives with us. All. Of. The. Time.
YAAAAAAY! Said no one ever about a gigantic, continually growing snake living in their laundry room.
And in case you’re interested in how you find out if your snake (that I hope you don’t have) is a boy or a girl…well you just take them over to your nearest snake specialist and have them sexed. That’s right. You sex up a snake. I’d like to think there was some Barry White and a nice box of chilled chablis but APPARENTLY it involves a guy (who I am assuming resides in his parent’s basement) picking up the snake and SQUEEZING it in the genital regions until some thorns pop out. Or don’t. And that’s how you find out the sex of your darling, slithery baby. Also, if I was the snake I’d be pretty pissed there was no wine involved.
“Hey Kyle.” says I. “Maybe we should think about donating our lovely friend Apple here to the rescue zoo. They’ve just built a nice, new reptile house, she’s used to being around kids and there was one other thing…whaaaat waaas it? Think think think…oh yes. I DON’T WANT A SNAKE LIVING IN MY LAUNDRY ROOM FOR ANOTHER QUARTER OF A CENTURY!”
“Hmmmm…” he says. “I’ll think about it.”
Well think about this, Mr. Snakey Pants. There is a good chance that at the reading of our will one day, the sentence ‘and the care of the boa constrictor goes to…’ and both boys will shout ‘NOT IT!’ at the same time. And that’s not how I wanted the reading of our will to go. I was thinking more along the lines of a dramatic video where we reveal to the boys that their loving father never read their loving mother’s blog.
And that’s a good thing. Because now we can put my sneaky plan into play. Which is…if you know Kyle then the next time you see him you should casually toss out something like, “Hey Kyle, did you know that it’s a proven fact that people with snakes are 50% more likely to cause the Cowboys to have a horrible season?” or “Hey Kyle, did you hear about the guy with the boa constrictor and no wife?” I kid. Sort of. Also, if you know any Swedish supermodels be sure to have them casually run into Kyle and say something like, “Ooooh guys that donate their boa constrictors to rescue zoos are soooo sexy!”
Seriously. I’m reaching.
Why. Well let’s see. As I type this I have 3 gigantic, dead rats residing in my freezer. That’s right. Have you ever reached into the freezer to pull out something for dinner, picked up a package thinking, “Hmmm what’s in here?” only to realize that you are holding the tiny, frozen claw of dead rat? Have you?? Well I have. And it’s skeevy. Also…what if rats have ghosts?? What then??
And how would one thaw out a tasty rat for the snake’s dinner? Why in a bucket, silly you!
So let’s examine the facts:
1. We own a gigantic snake.
2. We have a dog that is 50% pit bull.
3. My husband drinks Natural Light from a can.
4. My kids run around in their underwear/diapers about 90% of the time.
5. We own a 25 year old pick up truck that occasionally emits a black cloud of smoke when started up.
6. I paint new toenail polish over my old toenail polish. I have a layer of toenail polish that dates back to the Cretaceous age.
7. We have rats in our freezer.
All of those things on their own aren’t too bad (well, the toenail polish thing is pretty bad). But add them all together and…
WE ARE ONE CAR ON BLOCKS AWAY FROM USING ALUMINUM FOIL AS CURTAINS!
So let’s all agree that we will continue to harass…errr…I mean we will make loving suggestions to Kyle that he should donate his boa constrictor to the rescue zoo.
And if you run into me and I’m wearing snake skin boots?
Well, don’t judge.
P.S. If you are a snakey person, please don’t get your panties in a wad. This is (mostly) a joke. Just calm down and go have your mom make you a sandwich.