The Horrifyingly Horrible Tale of My Weekend

To say that I fear snakes is putting it mildly. I am petrified, terrified, horrified, and have been known to unleash the power of some kind of rain god with my wild, convulsive dancing when I spot one. Even if it's behind glass, I freak. And then I dance a jig and it eventually rains. Rain dancing is a lost art, imho.

Anyway, my dog got her shots a few days ago and since then she's very nervous and skittish about trusting us. She won't go outside by herself. We have to go with her and sweet talk her until she piddles in the grass. Otherwise, she is bent on punishing us by peeing on our throw rugs.

So, I had to coddle the dog and coax her down the steps of our back deck so she could use the restroom.

Here are the facts as I remember them:

I stepped down on the first of eight steps and the dog was right beside me.

I thought I saw a snake on the step below the one I was on.

The dancing began and I was goose stepping like a fired up preacher across a blazing pulpit. Or maybe that guy from AC/DC that plays the guitar.

I'm pretty sure I invoked the power of God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and Steve Irwin. I may also have called out to Little Debbie because I'm a stress eater.

At one point I know I was tight rope walking the railing on the deck.

I'm pretty sure I attempted to crawl up the side of the house because where else would I get splinters in my thighs.

I flung myself at the back door but didn't have sense enough to open it.

I did that repeatedly.

Then I realized my poor dog was down in the yard and was possibly bitten or would be bitten when she came back up. So I started to call her. But she had obviously been holding in urine and other stuff because she simply gazed at me from her crouched down position of pooing. She has no shame.

I had to rescue the poor dog.

So, I guess I thought somewhere in the midst of all the dancing and caterwauling and praying...I had sprouted wings. The next thing I remember is sailing through the air out over the steps. Instead of doing the rational thing, the SANE thing, I stepped on the top step again and then decided to channel R Kelly and believe I could fly. I'm pretty sure I had perfect form for all of two seconds.

I glided out over the stairs like an Olympic diver and landed flat on my stomach/side on our concrete patio—eight steps below where I was standing. All the air left my body. I couldn't do much of anything except lay there, see stars, and assess the damage.

To her credit, the dog simply glared at me and found another patch of grass to fertilize. I could tell she was laughing inside. She looked like the very picture of literal poops and giggles. Not only does she have no shame, I'm pretty sure she felt like it was karma for the shots she had.

I finally realized that there was a rake nearby so I pulled myself off the concrete with plenty of whining, grumbling, and moans. I decided, once I regained full consciousness and control of my faculties, to murder the snake. No creature, great or small, can humiliate me like that and live to tell about it.

Armed with the rake and poised to go Braveheart on the wretched reptile, I stepped up a couple of steps and...there was no snake.

It was a damn stick.

I went through ALL THAT over a damn stick.

Lemme tell y'all...I got so mad that I grabbed it and flung it across the yard.

To further prove that the gods were indeed mocking me...my dog chased the stick and brought it back to me...wagging her tail like she didn't have a care in the world.

I had to soak in hot water, rub foul smelling liniment on my shoulder, hip and rib cage and now I smell like a molded York Peppermint Patty.

I think it's fair to say that this weekend has sucked beyond the telling of it and a freakin' stick witnessed a truly spectacular kicking of my backside...of my own doing.

So, I'll gladly take donations of bubble wrap to pad myself with. How on earth I manage to live is beyond me. I'm my own worst enemy.

*sigh*