That’s what I said to my mom when she came over a few minutes ago to borrow a metal file.
I saw it when I walked out to meet mom. It was gray, slimey looking, and definitely dead. Now there are some things I can handle and some things I can’t. Things I can handle? Dead rodents, dead lizards, spiders, random other bugs. Things I can’t handle? Centipedes, milipedes, misc. other bugs that crunch, and worms. In fact, I think it’s fair to say that I hate worms atleast as much as I hate fish.
So there it was, dead on the garage floor and Nate was in class and wouldn’t be home for 45 minutes but I couldn’t just leave it because the cats would go out and play with it and GROSS it’s a DEAD WORM on the garage floor and the cats would think it was FUN. EWWW.
I tried to push it out of the garage by wrapping a paper towel around a long metal file, but I only got one push in before I totally grossed myself out and couldn’t handle it as in couldn’t be within like 3 feet of it. Wuss.
So mom came over and I showed it to her and she leaned over and kicked it, and said “it looks like a shoe lace” and then I freaked out because it was SO OBVIOUSLY NOT A SHOE LACE OH MY GOD DON’T TOUCH THE DEAD WORM. So mom pulled a plastic bag out of the big bag of plastic bags (that are waiting to go into that grocery store bag recycle thingie) and said “avert your eyes,” which I did immediatley because EWW. When she got back from the trash can she said it wasn’t a worm, it was a snake. A tiny snake. A tiny very dead and slimy looking snake.
Ok, so maybe a dead worm in the garage did seem a little strange and why was it limp and slimy instead of dry and crunchy like dead worms get, but who am I to question the squishiness of dead stuff?
Anyways. Normally I don’t mind snakes.
No, really. I don’t mind snakes. I even touched a giant python at Busch Gardens once (maybe I’ll even post the picture if I can remember to get it from Jennifer to scan). So snakes, I can handle snakes and had I recognized it as a snake I’m confident I could have disposed of it on my own instead of having to rely on my mommy.
Yes, I am a wuss. You have a problem with that?!