a document of days

Whenever the subject of snakes comes up, it's usually followed by a round of squeals, scrunched noses, and shaking heads. I typically laugh and launch into the story about the time I picked up a snake with my bare hands and held it up to my father; I was about six years old. What courage!

Even as an adult I've not been particularly scared of snakes. I save that fear for spiders and cockroaches. Oh wait - there was that time with the snake in Kentucky... when it tried to get into our boat. That was pretty horrifying.

Today I opened the front door and walked outside. I wasn't two steps out the door when I noticed movement about a foot to my left. I turned and jumped back. There was a snake in our shrub, it's head out, tongue flicking, eyes locked on mine. My courage failed me and I ran all the way around the house, in the back door and up the stairs, yelling to Ryan about a snake.

Turns out I don't care much for snakes. Not if they live at my house.