We we went to our friend’s AMERICAN GODS premier party, and another guest let us in, looking PRETTY FREAKED. Our hostess, Michelle, is tall and curvy and pretty, and as we came in, she was RIPPING a decorative broadsword and a katana OFF OF THE WALL her red hair flying wild, her cheeks flushed. She looked like some kind of Valkyrie Warrior Princess on a mission to murder-town, which was really American Gods appropriate, but still kinda spooky.
Me: What the what?
Her: SNAKE! SNAKE!
She and ran for the back porch where we could see her husband peering under a planter.
I followed, already starting my calm, patronizing speech: Oh la la, do not fear snakes they are kind and cute and they eat roaches which is righteous and just and they—
Me: Kill it with fire.
IT WAS! IT WAS! A HUGE copperhead. Mad as hell and striking and being terrible and 4 feet long and a monster. ON. THEIR. PORCH. In their neighborhood, which is RIFE with cheerful, careless children and gamboling puppies. It looked like this only its eyes glowed more hellishly and I am pretty sure it had a gun.
Scott: NAW, Naw, put the sword away, and get me some GARDENING IMPLEMENTS.
Us: *blink blink*
She put the sword down and got him a shovel and a PITCHFORK, which – I admit I looked askance at the pitchfork, but Scott took ‘em both. The planter was in a corner, so Scott took the front and Michelle’s husband David took the side, and they started poking around with the handles to make it come out.
It shot its head out the front — RAWR! — and SCOTT STARTED FIGHTING THE SNAKE. It took several dancing minutes with surprise lashings and leaps onto chairs—in fact at one point he did this sort of BALLET MOVE– my 6’3”, 200+ pound husband, airborne, shockingly graceful— and IN MIDAIR he STRUCK down with the pitchfork and PINNED THE BADDY TO THE EARTH and it THRASHED ALL WILD AND BIT MADLY at the handle and he calmly POPPED ITS HEAD RIGHT OFF with the shovel, and ya’ll…
I am a modern feminist person with an education and a job and the right to vote. Okay? Also. I am a lady-aged person with nearly grown children. I have a comfortably sized bottom and gray hairs and no longer wear agony-shoes. OKAY? Scott himself just turned FIFTY, and his salt and pepper beard is nearly all salt these days. But O my Best Beloveds, I have to tell you – none of that mattered a fig.
He went out there and BATTLED A SNAKE, and WON, and SAVED EVERYONE …and it was totally, totally hot.