Tuesday, April 05, 2005

"That pride which inevitably brings about one's downfall."

We had these friends who had just built a new house. This was WAY back, when we were really young and newly married and almost everybody we knew lived in a tiny apartment or a trailer or a small rented house. But these friends had just built a brand new house. They were more than just a little bit cocky about it, too. Can you spell "hubris?"

They had just moved in, had been living there only a few days, when they spotted the first sign that perhaps they were not alone in the house.

The empty snakeskin garlanded across the top of the door frame between the kitchen and the family room gave it away.

And it was about a week later that she opened the silverware drawer and discovered, coiled atop her new flatware, the owner of the discarded skin.

It was taken by surprise at the sudden opening of the drawer, and made a rude gesture her way, and she slammed the drawer so hard, the snake fell off the back and down into the bottom of the cabinet behind the drawers, where nobody could get to it.

For a little over a week, they could hear the snake furiously thrashing about back there, but they couldn't do a thing about it. Except sweat.

Eventually the noise stopped. And then, the stench began. Again, there was not a thing they could do about it, unless they tore out the whole cabinet system in their brand-new kitchen.

Eventually, the smell went away. Things were back to normal. If, by "normal," you mean living in a house with the skeleton of a snake back behind your silverware drawer.

She wanted it kept a secret. He wanted to brag about it. He said it was as cool as living in a haunted house. She said it was like having a graveyard behind the cabinets.

Eventually they sold the house. They did not tell the new owner about the skeleton behind the silverware drawer.

Depending on the personality of the new owner, they might have gotten a little more money out of the deal. Or not. Depending on the personality of the new owner.