...people assume you are qualified for all things adventurous, exciting, and potentially life threatening.
Last night around 10pm we got a call from a neighbor.
"We seem to have a snake in our house and I'm a chicken. I've trapped it under a bucket, but I can't pick it up. Can you please come over and get it? My wife is on the kitchen counter and won't get down until someone gets this thing out of our house."
The Scout Master isn't particularly fond of snakes, but apparently his inner Boy Scout took over and he agreed to go over and rescue our neighbor and his family from their slithery intruder.
"By the way," said the neighbor, "it's about 12-18 inches long, so you might want to bring a shovel just in case you feel like you need to cut it's head off."
Luckily I was already comfortably in my jammies, so I had a really good excuse not to accompany my husband on his rescue mission. But even if I had been fully dressed and already wearing shoes, the words "12-18 inches long" would have kept me at home. My fearless June, though, overheard the conversation and ever-ready for an adventure, hopped into the Jeep carrying the shovel.
I waited anxiously (and safely) on the couch while they were gone...and I might have Googled to see if King Cobras were indigenous to Texas. They're not.
15 minutes later, June came into the house carrying a bucket.
"You better not have a dead python in there!"
"Mommy, look at it."
I got as far away as I could and craned my neck expecting to see a vicious, slimy thing wriggling around in that bucket.
Wanna see it??
wait...let me magnify it for you...
I'm grateful that I live in a house with a fearless husband (and daughter) and that I can now add "snake hunter" to his very long list of talents.