Friday, April 11, 2008

Mutha****ing snakes in a mutha****ing car...

Once upon a time, back when I was a teenager, a classmate of mine thought that putting a water snake in my car, which would be discovered after school, would reduce me to hysterics. This joke should provide hours of chuckles to those waiting and watching in the school parking lot.

He and his friends parked. They waited. They watched. They saw me get in my car and drive away without so much as blinking. I assume after that they scratched themselves, belched, and insulted each other's mothers.

Not content to be quiet about breaking into my car, this boy asked me later if I'd ever found the snake, hoping to inspire a reaction after the fact. No, I hadn't found the snake. Dude, you're an idiot.

This classmate didn't consider that his joke might not work. Obviously, deep thinking wasn't his forte'. He failed on two counts:

One...snakes don't stay where you put them. They will slither off a car seat and into some hidey hole in the car somewhere, or onto the engine block, never to be seen again. PETA does not recommend you abuse snakes in this way.

Two...not all girls are afraid of snakes.

I like snakes. I like bugs. I like rodents. I am not frightenend by creepy crawlies. If there is a spider in my house it's my job to remove it.

What am I frightened of?

Besides this:



I have two other strong fears.

I don't like heights. Specifically I don't like edges located in high spots. I thought once that bungee jumping might cure me of this fear but I was mistaken. You will never catch me enjoying this ride at the local amusement park and I will not be skydiving. Luckily, this fear is easily avoided.

Needles...blech. Once the needle is in I'm OK, but watching the poke through the skin makes my heart race. I've had to get over this fear. When you are a woman in your childbearing years, doctors are always wanting to poke needles into you. I'm not a good blood draw either as my veins are tiny and roly poly. I usually get nurses who think I'm an ignoramus when I tell them to use a child sized needle either in my hands or in my feet. They grab my arms and proceed to poke away. They don't get free rein to poke at me anymore.

I've had to get over myself real fast when babysitting my nephews. Two of the three boys my little sister gave birth to are type 1 diabetics. Babysitting those monsters of hers means shooting them full of insulin. I close one eye and pop 'em.

Her oldest son probably is thinking, "Dude, you're an idiot."

This post is an assignment associated with the blogs in the Thank You Notes in my sidebar. Check 'em out

2 comments:

  1. After learning to give Annie shots since her hands didn't work well enough to do it herself, I have learned that it doesn't hurt as much to give a shot to someone else as it does to get one in my own body.

    As to your photo being frightening, just think how frightening a similar photo will be in 30 years when she is a bit older. Those things will probably point straight down then.

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  2. Uh, Dick? In 30 years, those things will be EXACTLY where they are now ... that's what is so frightening about it ... but her face will do serious changing. It ain't gonna be pretty.

    My veins are the same way: small and willing to slip away at the slightest pressure. I tell 'em, "BUTTERFLY NEEDLE, DAMMIT" and now they listen to me. It takes some of the pressure of us and they look less like idiots. I got fed up with them jamming me all over both arms before they figured out what they were doing. What do they figure the small needles are for, anyway?

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