The Slime Trail On My Sidewalk
A story of Triumph
It’s rained a lot over the past week here in SLC, and my city-issued rain drum is full. Which means, I can water via the watering can instead of the hose. But these are not important details to my story. What is an important detail to my story is the snail I found las night hanging out on the inside of the watering can. I don’t dislike snails, but I certainly don’t like snails enough to risk getting slime on my fingers just to save one bug’s life. Also, that seems unfair to the other bugs that I kill just because they’ve dared entered my home. I’m a murderer, but a murderer that believes in equality. So, not wanting to offend the rest of the bug race and also not wanting to touch the snail, like some sort of twisted sadist, think nazi doctor villain in ever movie you’ve ever seen, I decided to leave the snail where it was and see if it could survive multiple drownings. I filled up the can and watered the strawberries. I filled up the can and watered my herbs. I filled up the can and watered my flower pots. I imagined the snail holding its breath, puffing out its cheeks, wiggling it’s weird slime log of a body, trying to reach the surface with each new flood. But I peered inside the can and saw the snail hadn’t moved. I presumed it dead. And I felt nothing because there’s a black hole where my heart should be. But this morning I stepped outside and found a trail of goop from the watering can to the garden. And the snail was gone. Which is just so heartwarming, and also a real bummer because that snail is going to ruin my tomatoes.
Elsewhere in the Walter home, I made the mistake of telling Ivy she is now 5 and a half as of two days ago, and she demanded to know why we failed to celebrate her half birthday. She’s asked more than once why she received no presents, and I’ve explained more than once that half birthdays are not a thing and that there are starving children and Africa and be grateful and blah blah blah. My trips of guilt have bounced right off her and instead of considering how good she has it, she’s really leaning in to the neglected child thing. “I guess I’ll just have to make my own presents,” she said, which was the saddest/funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I did agree to help make half a birthday cake though, because honestly, that sounds like fun.

