This Can Only Lead to Trouble

Oldest Boy has a python. We got Lydia the python when she was as thin as a pencil. Now, she is as thick as my arm, and maybe three feet long. She is a ball python--considered a good "first snake." Docile. Nonvenomous. Lydia came into this house largely because Oldest Boy never, ever asks for anything, unlike my girls who are both clothes horses and have very expensive taste. Oldest Boy is the quiet one, the one who is always helpful and cheerful. And he really, really wanted a snake. And, unfortunately, I could talk him into getting a tortoise instead. He's had her for three years, and in that time has proven himself to be a great pet-owner.

I, however, HATE Lydia. I hate her with a totally freaked-out, can't stand the sight of her, won't touch her neurosis. I hate her. If she pokes her head out of her rock cave when I am putting Oldest Boy's laundry in his drawers, I think she wants to eat me.

DEMON BABY . . . as anyone who reads this blog would expect, LOVES Lydia. And his new obsession is taking her out and "petting" her. The only thing stopping him (for the moment) is Lydia is kept on a high shelf, and there are two locks that fit onto the lid of her tank. But, if you read this blog, then you also know . . . it's just a matter of time, my friends.

Now let me explain further . . . .

Ball pythons are notorious hiders. They can go slither behind a bookshelf and disappear for months on end until they get VERY hungry. So if Lydia were to be "freed" by one Demon Baby . . . it's possible I would have to sell my house and move.