My favorite time to jog is just after the sun dips behind the trees and just before the stars pepper the darkness. Peace and joy fill me to brimming at this point in the day. Apparently, the venomous snakes in the area feel the same way.
The other night as I returned home from my jiggle down the tractor path through the neighboring soybean field, I noticed a strange stick beside our driveway. It moved. Additionally, my “stick” sported an alternating copper and brown pattern. I backed up faster than my colon at the mention of string cheese.
Since I found myself two-tenths of a mile away from my house, husband, cell phone and some snake shot, I had a problem to solve. Could I tiptoe around this poisonous critter? Since it was ambling across the path, I guessed that it would eventually get out of the way so I could pass.
As I prepared to execute my superhero leap over the snake, I swore viciously as yet another copperhead emerged from the weeds. Together, both snakes stretched the entire width of my driveway. I picked up a stick and threw it at them, but neither animal seemed to notice. I tried a rock–no response. I jumped up and down screaming, but the snakes couldn’t have cared less. By this time, Hercules couldn’t have driven a ten-penny nail up my butt with a ball peen hammer. It wasn’t until I breathed my blood pressure into submission that I realized why these creatures found me so insignificant. The two snakes were laying pipe in my driveway.
I felt like I should avert my eyes. When the second snake had sufficiently coiled itself around the first snake, I decided I’d better make my move. I sped behind the happy couple at a rate guaranteed to reduce my ass by half if I could maintain the pace for the entire duration of the herpetological porno unfolding in my driveway.
I didn’t stop until I landed breathlessly in my living room. I’m still not sure if my feet ever touched the ground. Between gasps, I explained to my husband why I had an overwhelming urge to wash my eyes out with bleach.
Naturally, he howled.
“Now, maybe you’ll listen to me when I tell you to take your phone when you go do that shuffling thing you do up the driveway!” he managed to say between cackles.
Humph. I guess if I want “compassion,” I’ll have to look in the dictionary between “Chlamydia” and “copulation.”