My friend Kim recently blogged about her son's pet snake being lost somewhere in the house , and it reminded me of my own experience with a reptilian escapee. I haven't thought of it in years, so I figured I'd write about it here. You know, for posterity's sake.
As a sophomore in college I had a boyfriend named Jeff. That's not particularly pertinent to this story except that I was with him when it happened and it was his friend's snake that was involved. We had gone over to this friend's (I want to say his name was Mike, so that's what we'll call him) apartment to eat dinner and watch Lawrence of Arabia.
Jeff and I were sitting on the couch watching the movie when I felt something cold go down my arm. At first I thought maybe Jeff had put his hand down my shirt (what the heck!), but I quickly realized that wasn't the case at all.
It was a snake.
A very large snake.
And he was cuddling up to me with all his snakelike might. I was, understandably, freaking out, but also trying to act cool in front of everyone as if having a boa constrictor or python or whatever the heck kind of snake it was down one's shirt was as normal as blueberry pie. I don't really think I fooled anyone, but I definitely tried.
In case you missed it, this snake was making its home under my shirt. Next to my skin. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the shirt was going to have to come off, or at the very least be unbuttoned, in order to get Mr. Snake out. And I was in the presence of boys.
The boy I think was named Mike tried his darnedest to coax his pet snake out, but to no avail. So, I unbuttoned as discreetly as possible, and he laboriously extracted the animal from around my arm and waist.
Once he was put safely back in his cage, we all resumed watching Peter O'Toole in the desert and pretended nothing had ever happened. Especially me.
Which may account for the reason I haven't thought of this in over 15 years.