I have had it with this motherf*^king snake in this motherf*^king bathroom! The Final Chapter.
So now that I’ve already told you about the previous two snakes I’ve had in my life (the ex boyfriend doesn’t count) let’s move on to snake number three. The surprise intruder. It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and I had an appointment with my shrink to make sure my anxiety meds were doing their job. The appointment was at 6:00 pm. That shouldn’t have been a problem. All I needed to do was brush my teeth, throw on some make up, change my clothes, put some fresh clothes on Mini Me and drop her off at her dad’s work and I should have been at my Psychiatrist office a little before 6. Just in time to sit back and relax before I had to go in and tell her what I had been up to for the last month. I’m not a big fan of therapy but a girl’s gotta’ do what a girl’s gotta’ do.
So it was about 4:15 pm when I changed my clothes and entered my innocent looking bathroom to brush my teeth. I grabbed the towel off the bathroom counter to wipe my face and a snake fell out.
I freaked out a little because – let’s be honest – who expects a snake in their hand towel? Not to mention I had my three year old in the house and I had no idea what kind of snake it was. This could have possibly been a venomous crapshoot that was currently slithering on my bathroom floor. What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? My daughter heard my yelp from the living room and came running in to see what the commotion was just in time to see the slithering menace making its way across the bathroom floor.
“Mommy snake!” she said pointing at our new guest.
“Mini Me stay back!” I told her trying my best not to get too excited because I didn’t want to scare her. Just then our small dog Gary decided to run into the bathroom to try and bark the snake to death.
“GARY GET OUT!” I yelled at the dog. This was quickly becoming a chaotic mess. WHERE THE HELL IS MY HUSBAND WHEN I NEED HIM? On second thought, maybe it was better that Poptart wasn’t around. He’d probably just get his shotgun and blast the poor thing to bits, leaving a nice hole in my tiled floor.
“Mini Me, I want you and Gary both out of this bathroom right now.” I told her in a calm soothing voice. But my child just stood there screaming “SCARY! SCARY!” And my dog kept barking and all of a sudden I realized that I had absolutely no control over the slithering situation. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest which usually means a panic attack was coming on so I knew I was going to need to get the noise level down and I was going to need to get it down quickly. I opened up my closet door and quickly searched for something I could use to trap the snake. I didn’t see anything that would do except for the wonderful variety of shoeboxes in my closet. Ah ha! Finally my love for shoes has paid me back! I grabbed a shoebox and crept up on the snake and dropped it down on top of him. For the time being he was trapped.
I took advantage of the snake’s imprisonment to usher my child and dog out of the bathroom and back inside the living room where my office is also located. I immediately posted the snake in my bathroom as my statues update on Facebook because I like to keep my priorities in order, and then I googled “Snakes, Texas.” I searched all of the pictures as quickly as I could and didn’t see our scaled squatter on the list. Hummmm, a new breed maybe? I looked at the clock on the computer and it was now 4:42 pm. I was running out of time. I still needed to put on make up, get Mini Me dressed, drop her off at her dad’s work, oh yeah, and now I also had to deal with the snake. Time was ticking. I left my office and gave Mini Me specific instructions to watch TV and not to leave the living room.
“Do you understand me?” I told her in my sternest mom voice.
“Yes,” she said. Sure like she ever listens to anything I say anyway.
“I’m not kidding Mini, STAY AWAY FROM THE BATHROOM!” I then went over to dining room where I had a huge box of files I was getting ready to put in the attic and starting digging through them.
“Where is it? Where is it?” I mumbled to myself. Just as I was about to give up I found it. It was a bill from Wilderness Animal Control for $185.00. I had kept the bill as a tax write off for removing the raccoons from our chimneys earlier that year. We never actually caught the raccoons in question, but I did get to pay $85.00 to relocate a perfectly innocent possum. The extra $100.00 was to put new screens on the chimneys so the raccoons couldn’t get back in. Don’t think they aren’t trying. At night I hear them on the roof. Also if you look out of the bedroom in the guest room you will see a giant pile of raccoon dung. They leave it there for me as a warning. I grabbed the phone and dialed the number at the top of the bill.
“Hello this is Andre,” said the deep voice with the South African accent I had come to know so well.
“Andre, this is Stacy.”
Silence. Yeah, that really narrowed it down for him.
“I’m the woman who had the raccoons in her chimney.”
“Oh, hello Stacy,” he said.
“Andre, I have a problem. I have a snake in my bathroom and a three year old in my house. I need to know if this thing is poisonous.” During our conversation Mini Me decided this would be a good time to jump up on one of the dining room chairs and start swinging off the arm I was using to hold the phone.
“Lala lala la la. Mommy look at me,” she said.
“What does it look like?” Andre asked.
“Mommy look at me,” Mini said as she was pulling my arm down again so she could use it to help launch herself off the chair.
“It’s black and has yellow and red stripes down both sides of it,” I told him.
“ Lala la la. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! LOOK AT ME!” I am going to kill this child!
Mommy look at me!”
“Mini, please be quiet,” I told her getting frustrated and trying my hardest to hear Andre.
“…non venomous.” I had heard all I needed to hear. And then he want on and on about how snakes get into the houses and blah, blah, blah.
“Thank you Andre,” I said as I pulled my daughter off of me and made my way back towards the bathroom. On the way to the bathroom I check the time. 5:07 pm. Fuck, I’m not going to make it.
I went back into the bathroom and looked at the shoebox. Oh! I got it. I ran back out of the bathroom and into my office and grabbed a hanging folder for filing cabinets. Then ran back into the bathroom. If I could get the folder under the shoebox I could trap the snake between the shoebox and the folder. I got the folder under the box but every time I tried to lift it off the ground the snake would squirm it’s way out. This is not going to work. So back into the office I went. It was now 5:11 pm. I’m just going to have to call my psychiatrist and tell her I have a snake in my house and I can’t make it. I can’t do that. That sounds so crazy I don’t even believe me. *Sigh* Next I grabbed a mailing envelope. Well it’s a little bigger let’s give it a try. I ran back into the bathroom and right back out. I had the same luck with the mailing envelope as I had with the hanging file folder.
“Is the scary still in the bathroom mommy?” Mini Me asked me.
“Yes Mini, he is,” I told her. I was starting to get that horrible feeling like when you can’t accomplish something. You know that feeling when you’re just not up to the challenge. What’s that called? Oh yeah, FAILURE. I can just trap him and go to therapy and deal with him when I get home, I thought for a split second. But what if he gets out and now I not only have a snake in the house but I have no idea where he is. Think Stacy.
My next plan of action was sure to work. I grabbed a broom and the trash can from the bathroom and tried to sweep him into the garbage can. He not only didn’t cooperate but I think I also caught him laughing at me. I hate you! 5:23 pm.
“You must leave this house and you must leave now!” I yelled at the snake. Abandoning all hope I grabbed the towel he arrived in and tried to catch him in it. Again I was unsuccessful. No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t seem to get a good enough hold on him. Every time he would just wiggle his way back out of the towel and onto the floor. I am so done with you! I was at my wits end. I had tried and tried and failed and failed. He may have won the battle but I’ll be dammed if he was going to win the war. I kneeled down and looked at the snake that was taking up my afternoon and waited until he was in a position were his head was far enough away from me. Stacy you have one shot at this. If you aren’t fast enough you are going to get bit. I just sat there, quiet and still, and that’s when he started to move under our counter top. Just before his head got into the shaded area I snatched his little slithering ass up with my bare hands and carried him through the house and right past my child who was pointing at me.
“Mommy has the snake!” I then opened the door and walked out to the front yard looked both ways to make sure none of my neighbors were around and chucked him into our elderly neighbors’ yard. It probably wasn’t very nice but damn it I was on a schedule and I wasn’t about to put him back into my own yard.
I came tearing back into the house with authority. I threw on some makeup, put Mini Me in some clothes, and drove out of our neighborhood like a bat out of hell in route for the dreaded freeway. But before I could get on the freeway and have a panic attack I ran into an accident just outside of our neighborhood and traffic was redirected going into the opposite direction that I needed to go in. Why? Why? Why does this kind of shit always happen to me?
Because of the accident the police redirected the traffic coming out of my neighborhood and I was forced to go three blocks in the opposite direction before I was allowed to turn around and get on the freeway. Now, since my anxiety disorder took over 7 years ago I pretty much avoid the freeway like the plague. My first panic attack happened on the freeway and trust me, when your lips, arms, and legs go numb and you feel like you’re going to pass out, the freeway is not the place you want to be. But there I was not only on the freeway but breaking the sound barrier.
I got Mini Me to her dad and I made it to my therapist. I was about 10 minutes late but when I told her what I had just done she was so happy that I had done it without any panic attacks that she didn’t even care about the time.
“Stacy, you’ve come so far,” she told me. “You handled a snake, an accident and the freeway all without a panic attack. That’s really big,” And she was right, that was really big. I was so proud of myself I wanted to buy myself a new pair of snake skin stilettos to celebrate. But there is one tiny thing I have failed to mention. I haven’t brushed my teeth again since June. What? Is that bad?
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