Okay notice I did not post the title as You Know You're Country When...it's FROM the country people. I ain't cuntry (um that's a joke so I hope you all picked up on that).
So I was driving home tonight from Lifegroup and was almost home. I took the back road toward my apartment which looks very much like a country road. For those of you reading this and have never been on a country road (isn't this where I would insert the phrase, Bless your heart???) this is what it looks like. Imagine two sidewalks side by side...with no edges. Now, insert a pot hole in one of three places (your "side", their "side", and the middle) at least every 15 feet. Police have a very hard time discerning drunk people on a country road because you must naturally weave in order not to bottom out or ruin your tires. However, I digress. So I'm driving on this smallish road and I come over the hill for the last little stretch before some "genius" decided to widen the road 25 feet before it ends. I notice something on the side of the road. This is where my country skills come into play. (When you've grown up in the country your eyes are used to scanning the road and beyond so that you don't run into a deer, though my friend Nikki "swears" the deer ran into her...sure. I mean, I'm not the one who murdered the turtle. But that's another story.) I noticed that there was a particular slithery companion to my right. Now those of you that know me, know I HATE snakes...and when I say hate I mean abhor. They give me the creeps, always have and probably always will. When I was in Africa who saw more snakes than anyone? That's right...me.
So what do I do you ask? Well, I naturally swerve towards the snake. Did I hit it? It was only about 2 feet long. A fairly small snake. These thoughts cross my mind. Now I know what a lot of you are thinking, but the evidence of living in the city must be rubbing off because to answer your unasked question, no. I did not put the car in reverse, just enough to see if I hit it, peel out on it's coiled up body and back up to do it again and again until I was sure that I have killed it. This is what we country folks are taught to do. We've all seen our parents do it, my friend Janet's mom must have driven over this one dumb snake 15 times...if he didn't die from the tire crunching his body into the gravel he probably died from boredom watching her drive over and over him. Back and forth, back and forth, while we all stared. Even from a distance we knew what she was doing. You could tell the country people there...we all caught each other's eye and shook our heads...another snake...then do one of two things: Go back to what you were doing (we making s'mores at the campfire) or walk up to where the vehicle is and make VERY certain the snake is dead. Possible by poking it several times with a long stick.
Sometimes there's just not much to do on a Saturday night in the country...a snake on the road can certainly liven things up.
*Please do not play with live or dead snakes if you are unfamiliar with them. Even if you are familiar with them please...just drive to the nearest town with lights...they're sure to have a movie theater...it may cost more (depending on the amount of gas you waste on running down that snake) but I guarantee your date will be more impressed with the movie.
**no snakes were harmed in the writing of this story.