Baby Snakes and Soggy Bubbles

Yesterday, in a cold medicine induced fog and obviously not in my right mind, I had the bright idea to haul a bunch of stuff to the dump. We had accumulated some "stuff" on the front porch, giving the house that "Appalachian Poor People Documentary" look and neighbors were starting to comment. Most of it was some of Ma's packrat loot that I'd hauled out there a couple of weeks ago and one kitchen chair that was busted way beyond ever being fixed. It was tilting precariously to the left, it was only a matter of time before it tossed someone in the floor. Ma protested, hollerin' "I got some stuff to fix that with... don't throw it out!!" but I managed to get it out to the truck without having to resort to physical combat.

By the time I got done cleaning off the porch and dragging a few more bags o' clutter out of Ma's room, Jolene's bed was full and ready to go. I didn't bother taking a shower before I went, I mean.. it's the dump... and I was sure I'd need one when I got back anyway. I pulled my hair up in a lopsided ponytail, confident that I wouldn't run in to anyone I knew and headed out.

The lot around the dumpsters was full of trucks. Trucks belonging to everyone who lives in Frog Pond Holler that I've ever argued with, given the stink eye to or been told off by. I pulled in behind an old, beat up truck that I soon recognized to be the same pickup a certain Bubbahubby drove back when he started dating his future wife... Bubbles.

But there is justice in the universe. Apparently Bubbles didn't realize that water had pooled in the bed of Bubbahubby's old farm truck, because as she tossed her giant boxes, still partially covered in pretty Christmas wrapping paper, in to the dumpster she flung nasty, stagnant water over her coiffed little head.

I may or may not have giggled uncontrollably.

When she reached in for that last bag of trash, raising it high above her and I saw the big ass hole in it where dogs, possums or hell.. maybe Precious the Younger had been chowing down on some garbage, for just a moment... a second.. I considered hollerin' out the window and warning her.

But I did not.

She rared back slinging the bag, brownish liquid dripping from the gaping hole, showering herself with wet, slimy garbage goodness. I believe she said, "Oh My!" as she tried to shake it off, glancing around to see if anyone was looking.

I may or may not have wet my granny panties with laughter, snorting so hard there may be permanent damage to my sinus cavity.

After the trip to the dump I piddled out in the yard a bit, then came in and moved the Christmas tree. It was blocking the air conditioner.

That's right. It was pushing 80° up in this trailer by yesterday afternoon. IT'S DECEMBER. Sheesh.

After that I knocked dust off the furniture, sucked it up off the floor, swept all sorts of unidentifiable matter up in the kitchen and scrubbed the fireplace hearth. On my hands and knees even. Oh and laundry. Lots of laundry.

In between all of this, Ma was still having her massive holiday hives attack. She took lots of Benadryl. When combined with her failing eyesight (or as she says, "I'm blind in one eye and I can't see out the other") and all her other assorted medications, around 9 o'clock last night she decided that she'd seen a baby snake in her bathroom. And to prove she was off her noodle, she thought I was going to come in there and look for it.

You can ask the Amazon. When it comes to snakes, all my mothering or care giving instincts become null and void. Once, when turning a corner in a pet shop and being confronted by a woman holding a 20ft long python pet snake, I shoved my precious child between myself and Satan's Pawn the animal, an incident the Amazon likes to bring up whenever I comment on my Mother Teresa-esque parenting qualities.

Don't look at me like that. She was like fourteen at the time. It's not like it was going to eat her.

Anywho, I yelled back to Ma's room and told her she'd have to take this ride on the crazy train solo, I was not coming in there and looking for a baby snake hiding in her room on the rare chance that it really existed. She yelled for the Amazon to come in there about 12 times, claiming she'd seen it again before the Amazon barricaded herself in her bedroom.

Fun times.

So as you may have guessed, today I'm plumb tuckered. Pooped. Tared. I don't plan on doing anything more strenuous than lifting my coffee cup for the rest of the day. The Amazon is workin' down at the Pump N' Go all day, so I can even have the t.v. remote.

Ya'll have a good one. I'm gonna go daydream about sweet nothings whispered in foreign accents.

Later Taters!