Snakes & Adders

I have a confession to make. I am Ophidiophobic.

Even the word slithers off your tongue. In plain English it means scared of snakes. In anyone’s language, it’s a fairly understandable fear.

I don’t remember when I first became aware that snakes and I did not get along, but I do recall being a kid and doing a pretty mean rendition of Jesus during his whole walking-on-water routine the time the SES fellas suggested we hop out of the flood waters due to some King Browns seen floating by.

There’s even proof of my phobia in full living colour, from when a bunch of us stopped for a scenic shot at a local lookout a few years ago, to test out a friend’s whizz-bang new camera with self-portrait feature.

She set the timer to take a series of shots, and when she got the film developed a little later, here’s how the sequence panned out (much to everyone’s amusement).

1st picture: all subjects happy and accounted for, standing by a rock in the sunshine.
2nd picture: there’s me, looking off to one side while the rest are still smiling inanely at the camera.
Picture number 3: here I am making my move, in the opposite direction from where I was last looking.
And the 4th picture in the sequence: well, if you look closely you can just make out that blurry bit at the bottom of the shot is actually my foot as I run away.
As for picture number 5, all I can say is at least the scenery was nice.

Talk about a Kodak moment!

So you can imagine my utter glee when my darling daughter was invited to a friend’s birthday party where the special guest was the Reptile Man.

Obviously this phobia isn't inherited because every time he came round our side of the circle for the kids to pat the ‘pets’, I found myself “just popping over to check out the refreshment table” while my little girl was front and centre with the creatures. (I’m only hoping that my trembling burnt off some of the extra calories I consumed in the process.)

And if I didn’t think it would have done irreparable damage to my child’s standing amongst her peers, I would’ve happily left before the official opening of the presents, since Mr Reptile decided he would allow photo opportunities for the little partygoers at the same time.

Oh yes, there was Miss 3 with a dirty great python wrapped around her shoulders like the feather boa that claimed its name, and there was me trying to stop my hand from shaking enough to snap the photo. Of course I had to politely decline the man’s kind offer for me to hold the thing as well. (I mean, kids don’t need to hear that kind of language.)

My ophidiophobia even sneaks up on me while I sleep. Now, I’ve heard that some dream interpreters say that seeing snakes in your own private picture show is actually a phallic symbol. Well, let me tell you, even if I met the man* who was represented by those serpents of indeterminate length, I would still run the other way!

Yes, to paraphrase Freud: sometimes a snake is just a snake. And I’m afraid of them all.

Unless of course we’re talking snakeskin shoes and handbags…maybe then I might be open for discussion. ;-)

Jx
©2009

(NB: my Beloved wanted me to include a note that the above passage* casts no aspersion whatsoever on his snake-handling ability, if you know what I mean.)