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Sunday
March 21, 2010 Since 1922 |
This girl will strike!
By Natalie Whatley
Correspondent Published May 17, 2009 I’ve contracted a slithering case of the heebie jeebies. If you’re in snake-oil sales and have a potential cure, you know where to find me.
I’m always thrilled when something semi-exciting happens in my life –gives me something to write about—but I’d gladly skip this “episode” to regain my peace of mind.
Since I spent last week recounting my fear of public speaking and how what psychologists refer to as “immersion therapy” forced me to get over it, I’m embarrassed to say that another of my fears has taken the spotlight this week. I will not immerse myself in this one.
I grew up with brothers and now have two boys of my own; reptiles, regardless of whether I like them or not, have always been a part of my life. I’m not the pass-out, run-away-shrieking-at-the-mere-sight type, but I keep my distance. (Imagine my horror when my younger son “clipped” lizards to his ears and took great delight in freaking me out with his dangly “earrings”. They were alive and biting his ears to hold on!)
Enter Shadow, my great feline hunter. He earns his keep by bringing lizards, skinks (which I recently learned emit a toxin from their tails that make cats sick; Shadow hasn’t made the connection between his apparent stomach upset and what he dined upon), and small snakes (no longer than six inches) to the mat at the back door. I’ve watched him catch his prey. He carries on as if he’s fighting an anaconda before taking a victory lap around the yard with something small hanging from his teeth.
Sitting on the couch reading the newspaper one morning, I spotted Shadow out of the corner of my eye stalking something across the room. I lowered the paper and watched as he pounced into a small hallway leading to the half bath. In a fraction of a second he was in the small bathroom creating quite a ruckus. Jeff and I concluded he’d probably found one of those BIG Texas-sized wood roaches that like to find their way indoors this time of year. We’d let him have his fun. When his body started bouncing off the bathroom walls, I pulled my feet onto the couch as I wanted no part of what might come out of that bathroom. Jeff went in to investigate.
“Now that’s a snake!” Words I never want to hear uttered inside my house again. “It must be 18 inches long!” I began feeling faint. Eighteen inches, 18 feet, one in the same when we’re talking snakes. I had been in that bathroom barefooted a couple of times that morning. How long had it been there? Had that thing made its way across my toes while . . . You would have heard me across town, and Jeff would be repairing sheetrock. “It’s a harmless garter snake,” he said holding it far too close. I don’t care.
I’m telling you this story in the event you end up on my jury after I’m hauled in for assault. Jeff has been very busy at work this week and hasn’t had the time or energy to be up to any of his usual shenanigans. Know that I can finish the man’s sentences; he will capitalize on my fragile mental state for amusement.
If you see him with a black eye it’s because he thought it would be funny as I dozed off to recreate what a slithering snake would feel like making its way up my leg or the side of my face. I know you all will understand and do the right thing when I stand before you to account for my actions.
Jeff, don’t mess with a girl suffering from a case of the slithering heebie jeebies. She will strike!
Natalie Whatley resides in Baytown with her family. Contact her at ndwhatley(at)verizon.net
Correspondent Published May 17, 2009 I’ve contracted a slithering case of the heebie jeebies. If you’re in snake-oil sales and have a potential cure, you know where to find me.
I’m always thrilled when something semi-exciting happens in my life –gives me something to write about—but I’d gladly skip this “episode” to regain my peace of mind.
Since I spent last week recounting my fear of public speaking and how what psychologists refer to as “immersion therapy” forced me to get over it, I’m embarrassed to say that another of my fears has taken the spotlight this week. I will not immerse myself in this one.
I grew up with brothers and now have two boys of my own; reptiles, regardless of whether I like them or not, have always been a part of my life. I’m not the pass-out, run-away-shrieking-at-the-mere-sight type, but I keep my distance. (Imagine my horror when my younger son “clipped” lizards to his ears and took great delight in freaking me out with his dangly “earrings”. They were alive and biting his ears to hold on!)
Enter Shadow, my great feline hunter. He earns his keep by bringing lizards, skinks (which I recently learned emit a toxin from their tails that make cats sick; Shadow hasn’t made the connection between his apparent stomach upset and what he dined upon), and small snakes (no longer than six inches) to the mat at the back door. I’ve watched him catch his prey. He carries on as if he’s fighting an anaconda before taking a victory lap around the yard with something small hanging from his teeth.
Sitting on the couch reading the newspaper one morning, I spotted Shadow out of the corner of my eye stalking something across the room. I lowered the paper and watched as he pounced into a small hallway leading to the half bath. In a fraction of a second he was in the small bathroom creating quite a ruckus. Jeff and I concluded he’d probably found one of those BIG Texas-sized wood roaches that like to find their way indoors this time of year. We’d let him have his fun. When his body started bouncing off the bathroom walls, I pulled my feet onto the couch as I wanted no part of what might come out of that bathroom. Jeff went in to investigate.
“Now that’s a snake!” Words I never want to hear uttered inside my house again. “It must be 18 inches long!” I began feeling faint. Eighteen inches, 18 feet, one in the same when we’re talking snakes. I had been in that bathroom barefooted a couple of times that morning. How long had it been there? Had that thing made its way across my toes while . . . You would have heard me across town, and Jeff would be repairing sheetrock. “It’s a harmless garter snake,” he said holding it far too close. I don’t care.
I’m telling you this story in the event you end up on my jury after I’m hauled in for assault. Jeff has been very busy at work this week and hasn’t had the time or energy to be up to any of his usual shenanigans. Know that I can finish the man’s sentences; he will capitalize on my fragile mental state for amusement.
If you see him with a black eye it’s because he thought it would be funny as I dozed off to recreate what a slithering snake would feel like making its way up my leg or the side of my face. I know you all will understand and do the right thing when I stand before you to account for my actions.
Jeff, don’t mess with a girl suffering from a case of the slithering heebie jeebies. She will strike!
Natalie Whatley resides in Baytown with her family. Contact her at ndwhatley(at)verizon.net