On Friday I took Caroline to her back to school orientation wherein we met her new teacher, saw her new classroom, and shyly greeted many friendly, familiar faces. One of them was her 3rd grade teacher, whom Caroline adores. We visited a few minutes and admired her room, especially a habitat she'd set up in anticipation of aquiring some snails for her students to observe.
"Oh, we have those in our backyard!," I crowed, in my way of being the last person you'd ever ask to smuggle anything across the border, "Would you like us to bring you some?"
The teacher looked as if she was about to stick a gold star on my forehead and I leaned forward in breathless anticipation, but instead she only said, "That would be wonderful!"
Which was still enough to plaster a grin on my face that lasted the rest of the day.
Oh, how we would have torn up the Victorian Era, my girls and I! How we would have turned needlework on its ear!
Early this morning, however, I got out of bed only to be confronted by a runaway mollusk heading right in my direction. I've seen stranger sights, mind you, so I crouched down and returned the little fellow to the habitat amongst his two friends.
:: Side note: Saran Wrap is apparently not intended to do anything more than preserve the freshness of inanimate things. Emphasis on inanimate.
At any rate, I hadn't taken more than a few steps before an ominous thought registered in my head: didn't the girls tell me they'd captured six??
I don't know what your math skills are like first thing in the morning, dear reader, but how fast can you calculate the following puzzle?
Two girls bring six snails into the house and leave them on the table in a flimsy container. The next day you wake up to find one on the loose and two still in detention.
What's the first word that comes to your mind?
Oops. That was a question for French class, darling, not Math.
Who knew snails had such a wanderlust, such frontier spirit? Who knew they hold summits in the middle of the night and dance minuets into the wee hours of the morn?
It's all manifest in their glistening network of tracks: the huddled conferences, the delicate footwork, the longing for the open road.
I don't pretend to call myself an expert on such things, dear reader. I don't flatter myself that way.
But I'm certainly not the last person you might call upon should you ever find yourself in a similar situation.