I am not one of them.
Even if one of my children happens to want to become a reptile biologist (I'm sure there's a special fancy name for it. One that I care not to learn.), and they beg me, telling me that it's educational and needful for their future success, I won't have a snake in my house.
I'll pay for them to go to cosmetology or mortuary school.
But I won't have a snake.
But the possibility of having to use the outhouse or an (in)convenient bush and then a snake managing somehow to make it in there with me, biting me in places that never see the light of day, just sends me over the edge.
Lord have mercy, I would have made a dismal pioneer woman. DISMAL.
Of course in all my camping trips, I've never once encountered a snake, ready to feast on my exposed flesh or not. I've come home and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that I was safe and sound in my beautiful, modern and snake-free bathroom.
Or so I thought.
And then I read this.
If I wasn't a lady, I could tell you mile-long list of bad words that just went through my mind.
Now, I'm the kind of person who doesn't panic whilst in the middle of a panic-inducing situation. I pride myself in keeping a cool head and a calm demeanor.
However, if there was a snake coming out of my toilet, all bets are off.
Lord, have mercy.
Pray for me.
(Now, I know that as a homeschool mother, I should disclose that the snake pictured above is a cobra, not native to my part of the world. However, I don't care what kind of snake it is, cobra or no, venomous or non-venomous, it should not be in my toilet. There is not one person on Earth who would like to see this staring them down when they lifted the lid. Not one.)