Why I Forced The Banshe to Move - Of Biblical Proportions (2006) by Jane Ballard
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Of Biblical Proportions (2006)
Of Biblical Proportions (2006)
chapter 1
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updated Mar 24, 2008
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Life in Banshe Central took on a decidedly Biblical cast this morning, when I stumbled out of bed into the master bathroom ... and wondered what The Banshe's belt was doing coiled on the toilet seat. I was further mystified when the belt raised its head to regard me, then slithered down into a dark and filthy corner to join its locust friends in planning seven years of generalized hell-raising.
I've encountered some weird situations in my forty-four years of life, but let me assure you, I've never gotten personal with a snake, much less early in the morning, when I'm barely conscious. I immediately raised the alarm with The Banshe, who took decisive action. Despite the fact that the snake had already vanished, he grabbed a broom handle and thumped the floor loudly, then sprayed the everloving bejesus out of the vinyl with bleach. Ten minutes later, he informed me that the crisis had passed, due, of course, to his manly intervention. No self-respecting snake, he announced, would trespass on freshly disinfected territory.
So you can understand why I'm not really enthusiastic about using that bathroom any more. I've never really trusted it. Early on, I chose not to bathe in the super-deep tub when The Banshe casually mentioned that spiders had a tendency to crawl out of the drain, and I've seen a few mice skitter across the filthy linoleum when I was not in a condition to run. But a snake is competely uncharted territory. I'm reading a book about New Orleans right now, and all I could think was that the Haggard Slut had somehow gotten a voodoo priestess to put a curse on us.
This, of course, has super-fueled my search for a new location for Banshe Central, and The Banshe himself is a bit cowed by this latest intrusion. Neither of us has any desire to co-star with Samuel L. Jackson in Snakes in a Shack, but it seems that casting has already started.
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I've encountered some weird situations in my forty-four years of life, but let me assure you, I've never gotten personal with a snake, much less early in the morning, when I'm barely conscious. I immediately raised the alarm with The Banshe, who took decisive action. Despite the fact that the snake had already vanished, he grabbed a broom handle and thumped the floor loudly, then sprayed the everloving bejesus out of the vinyl with bleach. Ten minutes later, he informed me that the crisis had passed, due, of course, to his manly intervention. No self-respecting snake, he announced, would trespass on freshly disinfected territory.
So you can understand why I'm not really enthusiastic about using that bathroom any more. I've never really trusted it. Early on, I chose not to bathe in the super-deep tub when The Banshe casually mentioned that spiders had a tendency to crawl out of the drain, and I've seen a few mice skitter across the filthy linoleum when I was not in a condition to run. But a snake is competely uncharted territory. I'm reading a book about New Orleans right now, and all I could think was that the Haggard Slut had somehow gotten a voodoo priestess to put a curse on us.
This, of course, has super-fueled my search for a new location for Banshe Central, and The Banshe himself is a bit cowed by this latest intrusion. Neither of us has any desire to co-star with Samuel L. Jackson in Snakes in a Shack, but it seems that casting has already started.
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