Once upon a time, somewhere along the third or fourth grade, there were signs of my overactive imagination that should have warned me I’d one day be a writer. And today, many (many) years later, it almost bit me in the butt. Well, if it had teeth, it could have….
It started when I heard a story from who-knows-where about a snake in a toilet (and yes, as much as I tell myself it's impossible, I know I'm lying, and I loathe lying). See, my father has a severe phobia of snakes, and fear is contagious. The sheer terror that there was even a remote chance a snake could be in my toilet, and have the freedom to bite me...well, my mind warped all of that into a twisted, fictional possibility: think warlock rather than a snake. I did know fiction from fact. I’m positive. But the imagination is a powerful tool.
I found myself in a flush and rush—when leaving the bathroom, I would wash, then I had to flush and slam the lid and rush out of the bathroom before a warlock could rise up from its depths.
You can take a moment to reread that.
Let it soak in.
Laugh into your hankie, spew out your coffee…
Okay, ready to move on?
So, that lasted months, probably the better part of a school year. (Go ahead, you can snicker a little more.) Let's face it, a warlock coudln't rush the use of the potty as a snake scare would have...just prevent lingering in the room afterward. My fiction was logical, friends.
I eventually managed to talk myself out of it, remind myself that fiction and fantasy were not reality. Warlocks really would not come out of the commode if I slowed my pace a little.
This morning, however, my toilet had a visitor.
May I introduce *Slimy, otherwise known as a warlock-in-hiding?
And so fact and fiction have begun to blur once more...
*the frog was named Slimy by my animal loving child who very bravely and kindly removed the war-- uh, frog from the toilet while I stood out of hop's reach
PS --do not look closely at the state of the toilet...and if you already have, I blame the warlock.