POST-DISPATCH (St Louis, Missouri) 29 April 08 Don’t look now, honey, but you’re wearing a snake (Bob Rybarczyk)
It’s not often that I find myself standing in a gymnasium and saying, “Wow, that is one enormous python.”
And yet, that was exactly what I said the other day. But let me back up for just a moment.
The gymnasium in question was in a local community center. Colette and I had taken the kids to a fun little event there. The event was a lot like a school carnival. There were games, a clown, snacks, and a DJ playing enough Hannah Montana music to make a even a nun embark on a rampage of wanton violence.
Mixed in with all the other shenanigans was a guy they called the “Reptile Man.” When I first heard the DJ announce that Reptile Man had arrived, I got way excited, because I was picturing something along the lines of The Lizard. You know, Spider-Man’s enemy, used to be a professor, turned himself into a lizard, embarked on rampages of wanton violence, never succeeded because Spider-Man screwed up all his really sweet ideas? That Lizard.
Well, don’t get too excited, because Reptile Man was hardly as cool as The Lizard. Reptile Man was more like Steve Irwin. You can understand why I was a little disappointed.
Once Reptile Man set up shop in one corner of the gym, however, he turned out to be a little bit cool after all. The first animal he got out was an anaconda the size of a seventh-grader. That quickly got everyone’s attention. One moment, he was a dude with questionable fashion sense, the next, he was Reptile Man.
Our girls were interested in the snake, but preferred to watch from a distance. We stayed back a bit, but we could still see what he was doing. He put away the snake and got out a 3-foot-long alligator. The alligator even did a trick; he stood upright while the Reptile Man held him. Then Reptile Man pretended to punch the alligator, and it fell over backwards. It was probably the coolest alligator punch I’d ever seen.
Next, Reptile Man got out a scorpion. It was huge, about the size of my hand. He put it on his face for a few seconds. Yeah, that’s right. Reptile Man put a scorpion on his face. I’m guessing that when Reptile Man walks into the emergency room at St. John’s, all the nurses look up and shout “Reptile Man!”
After the scorpion, the kids decided they wanted a closer look. I did, too. Colette wasn’t so sure, especially once she saw that Reptile Man was holding another snake. This one was a yellow python, the kind made famous by Britney Spears before she turned into a less Latin and more drug-addled version of Charo.
Reptile Man was having a bit of fun by placing the python around the necks of a few kids and parents. Colette shivered audibly when she saw a gleeful child with a python the size of a Buick draped around his neck.
“There is no way I’d let anyone put a snake around my neck,” she said. “I do not like snakes.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” I said. “He wouldn’t put it on you unless you asked him to.”
This, my friends, is what we call foreshadowing.
We joined the circle of people surrounding Reptile Man. He was having a good old time, holding up the snake and letting people take turns “wearing” it. Some folks really enjoyed it. Others, not so much. A few of the moms scrunched their faces as if someone had just placed a freshly squashed bunny down their shirts.
To my surprise, when Reptile Man was looking for another volunteer, Melon Ball (not her real name) raised her hand. Melon Ball, my 10-year-old stepdaughter, is the last child I’d expect to volunteer for skin-to-scale contact with a giant snake. She loves animals, but usually only the kind with feet. Anticipating a rare opportunity, I got out my camera and prepared to shoot.
As Reptile Man approached her with the python, however, something happened. Melon Ball saw that snake coming at her, and her eyes got the size of pool balls. At the last second, she bolted around Colette and hid. Reptile Man, not to be denied, simply locked his sights on the next-closest target: Colette.
Before any of us realized it was happening, Reptile Man put a giant snake around Colette’s shoulders.
I wish I could adequately describe the look on Colette’s face at that moment. It was as though she had just taken a bite out of a cheeseburger and discovered it was filled with raw fish guts. I’ve never seen anyone go into a full-on fetal position while still standing up, but Colette managed to come pretty close. Her knees bent, her eyes scrunched, her shoulders hunched. And she squealed. Boy, did she squeal.
Naturally, I did what any good husband would do in such dire circumstances. I took as many pictures as I could. I didn’t have any other options, really. That snake was like a yellow telephone pole with a tongue.
Reptile Man allowed Colette to “enjoy” the moment a little, leaving the snake on her for a good 15 seconds or so. At one point, Colette willed her eyes open and saw that the snake’s head, which had been down by her waist, was coming towards her face. Her squeal went up a pitch or two. Somewhere in a neighboring state, seismologists stared at their dials in moderate confusion.
Sensing that Colette was veering from uncomfortable participant to potential litigant, Reptile Man removed the python from her shoulders and put it on someone else. Colette got the hell out of there as quickly as she could. The kids were all squealing with delight, having concluded that the entire experience was really cool.
Colette was not nearly as impressed. “I swear, if that thing had gotten any closer to my face, I would have freaked out,” she said to me.
“You have snake slime on your neck,” I said.
Her eyes widened and her hands went toward her neck. “I do?”
“No,” I said, laughing.
Now, the look on Colette’s face at that moment, I’m guessing you could describe for yourselves.
Don’t look now, honey, but you’re wearing a snake