Aggitating Situation

As long as I've brought up the laundry so many times as of late, I thought I'd reminise about a story that I heard several years ago. Elissa and I had decided to attend the Fibers Through Time Conference sponsored by the Arizona Federation of Weavers, and we were staying in a small hotel just off of campus. These conferences tend to be very social events, the women and men attending gather in the lobbies of their respective abodes after the day's events conclude to spin and knit, compare notes and finished projects, and just have a good time in general. This conference was no exception.

I wish I could remember the names of the women we were sitting with, outside by the pool with our spinning wheels in motion in front of us. I do remember that one of them was a teacher. I still find that odd; I always think of teachers as lofty individuals and when one that is teaching me in the daytime comes down to socialize with the group as an equal at night, I enjoy it immensely but am usually startled that they have strange kind of lives similar to mine. No matter what our status in the fiber world, we are all eccentric to the same degree.

Anyway, we were discussing odd pets, and the teacher brought up her son's habit of collecting snakes. I told her the story of L- and her snake "Muffin" that had disappeared for several weeks at one point, to finally be discovered curled around the seat of her neighbor's toilet. Apparently Muffin had spent a good portion of his time transversing the plumbing system of L's apartment complex. And so the teacher told the story of her son's snake getting lost.

It had been missing for weeks. Unlike L- who generally believed that the absent reptile would eventually turn up curled in one her shoes or something like that, the teacher figured that her son's snake was gone for good. She went about her housework like nothing was amiss, and that's how she perceived the situation. Oh how wrong she was.

One day she was doing the laundry. She opened the lid of the washer and removed the majority of the clothing out of the barrel. Looked in, and was shocked. There was the missing snake, angry as all get out. She quietly shut the lid of the machine and left the room.

We were all hysterical at this point. Of course. I mentioned that since snakes can make their way through plumbing, it was apparent that they can swim. I figure that, during the wash cycle, it just swam around like a merri-go-round horse or a sea serpent waiting for the ride to be over. That would probably not make it angry. But I figured that the spin cycle would be enough to do it. After all, that would make me pretty mad.

First we speculated on whether the snake had been mixed in with the clothing in the hamper or made it's way into the machine via the plumbing. But we were all anxious to know the outcome of the story. "What did you do?" we asked with gleams in our eyes.

"Well," she replied. "I did what any sane woman would do. I called my husband at work and told him he neeed to come home immediately to remove the snake from the washing machine."

"Did he?!?!" we responded.

"Not at first. He was really annoyed with me and wanted to know why I could not take care of the situation myself. To which I said, 'I'm not having anything to do with it. That snake is clearly aggitated.'"