It was one of those rare Saturdays when none of us had a single plan. Nothing. It was awesome. My wife decided she wanted to test-out her "green thumb." Not me. I was gonna "test-out" the couch. I was in "no go" mode. I was gonna sit on my butt, drink some beers, eat a steak, and drool at the TV. I was gonna make Al Bundy proud.
About 10 minutes after sinking into la-la land, I heard an ear-piercing scream. That was quickly followed by a body (arms flapping with pruning shears in hand) running light-speed for the backdoor. There stood my wife, breathing heavy and looking pale. She finally managed to get a few words out...well, sorta. "Sn...sn....sna...snake in my face." My very insensitive response went something like this..."What Sweetie, a little grass-critter got you all jittery?" After she impersonated the thing a few times and swore how big it was, she even had me a little jittery. Next thing you know, I'm tiptoeing in the backyard with a shovel cocked and ready. Just behind me is my wife, with knee-high boots, clawing into my back. If only the neighbors could have seen this snake-slaying duo.
Of course, after several laps around the yard, the HUGE snake was never found. Following an investigation via Google, my wife swears it was a copperhead. And the legend lives. My wife's a bit animated. Every time the tale is retold, that copperhead gets much bigger and this husband get much lazier.
In other words, I'm a lazy husband and we have an anaconda (with babies) nesting in the backyard.