[cross-posted from my blog]
I was in the bathroom putting on makeup prior to leaving for work tonight when mini-Marli came running down the hallway with a traumatized look on her face. Since she’s a 9 year old girl and drama is her way of life, I mildly asked, “What’s up?” while continuing to fight with my mascara.
“There’s a slug this long (indicating a length more suitable to a 30 year old anaconda) in the kitchen!” she gasped.
I’ve had slugs in the kitchen before, and they’re never more than an inch or so long. They come up through the crack between the floor and the base of the fireplace (which I should probably caulk or block up or something, because of energy efficiency), and usually they just ooze around the cat food bowls for a while and then go away, so I wasn’t too worried as I wandered into the kitchen in search of this mythical creature. My daughter followed me, wringing her hands and striking “oogy” postures.
And then I saw it, and my first thought was, “Ai, ai! A Balrog has come!”
Not really. But I did recoil and go, “Ewwwww!”
“See?” said the daughter triumphantly. “I told you!”
It was more the size of a 2 year old garter snake than a 30 year old anaconda, which was some comfort, but not much, because a slug of any size is just gross, since they’re nothing but ambulatory snot. It lay by the base of the fireplace oozing and glistening and contemplating life (or destruction, who knows what slugs think about).
I’d like to report that I leapt into action at once, striking hard with the salt and vanquishing mine enemy in a bubbling puddle of chemical reaction and goo. I’d like to say that I struck a heroic pose with my box of Morton’s Iodized held high, my daughter gazing at me worshipfully, and the sounds of Big Momma Slug’s children’s lament filling my soul with contentment.
It’d be a better story if I could say that, but there was no way I was salting that big bastard on my kitchen floor. I’d never get all that crap off the linoleum. I scooped it up on a piece of cardboard (causing it to hiss at me and shorten itself up so it resembled the amputated thumb of Andre the Giant (okay, it didn’t hiss but it wanted to, I could tell)) and took it in to show my husband. His reaction, quoted verbatim, was “Ugh! Ew! Get that thing away from me! Ewwww!”
I threw the icky beast outside and left for work. With any luck the possum living in my bushes will eat it.
