During my run in the park yesterday, a snake slithered across my path and, I would dearly love to tell you that, when faced with the snake, I calmly slowed my pace and changed direction in order to avoid said reptile. In reality, I screamed at a volume not heard since the Von Trapp family yodeled it's way over the Swiss Alps, increased my speed and hurdled the snake in what could hardly be described as a graceful maneuver.
Not graceful at all.
Happily, there was no one present to witness the event.
When I got home I told Hugh about the incident, fully expecting a degree of sympathy for the trauma caused to me by the experience. Instead, he doubted the veracity of my statement about the snake being roughly the size of a python which; sort of made me wish there had been a witness there to back up my claims, preferably a witness who shares my near- pathological fear of snakes.
Oh, wait, that would be my husband.
I love how brave he is from the safety of our home. Also, I feel the need to point out that he refused my offer to let him accompany me to the park today.
Gee, Hugh, I wonder why?
The snake was like this only much, much bigger and, um, less flat. Or, bloody. I wish it had been flat and bloody. Also, I have no idea how the Von Trapps kept up that level of volume; my throat is killing me, today.