I don't have many fears. Well, not of tangible stuff anyway. The perfectionist in me is a bit afraid of failure. I'm sure if I dig deeper, there are some other neuroses I have. But I am afraid of snakes. Horribly afraid. Terrified. I could probably find a deep-seated reason. My mom was, also. She would tell me that snakes, even when they aren't poisonous and seemingly safe, could wrap around one's neck and strangle them. And they can squeeze through the tiniest of openings, making virtually no place safe from them. But this is the woman who was also afraid of cats--as in the safe domestic kitties people have as pets. God rest her soul, but she is probably not the best one from which to inherit fears.
So anyhow, John and I are outside today. Evan is also. And John said the words that my nightmares are made of:
"Oh look! A Snake!"
And in the brief instant that it took me to utter those two words, I managed to throw my Diet Mountain Dew across the front lawn and bolt inside. I tried to stay in the living room, right by the front door. I was screaming to John to kill it. PETA can come and get me later for it, but I didn't care. So John tries to maim it with the nearest weapon, which was the leg of a chair from the front porch. Of course he missed, causing the bastard to slither under the front porch. John goes to try to get a shovel and starts jabbing it under the porch, trying to either hit the wretched creature or chase it out so he can get it. He never sees it again. We don't know where it went.
So where was I in all of this? I had long since run to my bedroom. It is in the back of the house, and thus the furthest distance from the snake. I tried to stay in the living room,but kept picturing the snake on the other side of the living room window, waiting to get me. And I was shrieking. I mean, it truly is a good thing our neighbors were at work because someone would have called the police. I was screaming that loudly. And sobbing. I think John was on the verge of having me committed. And in the meantime, Zachary started crying from his bassinet in the living room. So I had to perform a rescue operation to get my baby. I took a deep breath, opened the bedroom door, and ran.
So now I am afraid to go outside. To let Evan go outside. It sucks. John got the brilliant idea to scatter mothballs around the property, especially the front and back porch. But that involved a trip to the hardware store. I was not about to let him leave me here alone. Could a snake find its way into the house? What if it did and I was here alone? But leaving meant I would have to go outside. So I made John pull the car to the back door, and I literally bolted the 5 feet I had between me and the car door.
John knew before this incident that I have an irrational fear of all snakes. It is for this reason that I would not watch Snakes on a Plane when he wanted to see it, or Anaconda, or any other snake-related movie. Hell, when they show them on a screen, I turn away and make him tell me when that part is over, like some wuss watching a slasher film. But for some reason, I don't think he got it until today.