During a family get-together over the weekend, I told my family about my near fatal run-in with a frog. I told them I wrote a column about how dangerous frogs are and how they should be banished from the planet after the incident.
They laughed at me. Not like little giggles, but full-on belly laughing. Through the roar, though, I was able to make out some words. Most of them weren’t overly nice, unless you consider “You are a serious crybaby” to be polite. Being used to this kind of abuse, I brushed them off and went about my business.
Well, later in the day, we were standing around in the yard just off the front porch. My nieces and I had just made three dummies using a giant pile of leaves they made the day before. My sister and nieces were setting up the finished dummies on the porch. (As an aside, they call them “scarecrows” because dummies is a bad word. This whole political correctness stuff has just got to stop.)
Anyway, standing in a circle with me were my dad, my stepmom and my brother-in-law. My brother-in-law stops mid-sentence and yells, “There’s a snake!” We all look down to see a snake at our feet.
My brother-in-law made the highest-pitched scream I’ve ever heard from a man, and my stepmother and I followed suit. We all took off running in different directions. My brother-in-law was on the porch in 1.5 seconds flat. He was a blur out of the corner of my eye. I don’t think he even used the steps.
Once I got what I felt was a safe enough distance to stop and turn back to the scene of the crime, I looked for my stepmother. She was nowhere to be found. I first thought maybe the snake got her, but then thought better of it. I yelled to my brother-in-law up on the porch and he pointed behind me.