Snakes are one of those things like slugs that, as I got older, my opinion changed drastically about. Now, I’d go out of my way to avoid them. But when I was a kid, I really loved them and actually wanted a small, nonpoisonous one as a pet. In fact, I wanted one so badly that I was willing to fool everyone, including (almost) myself, into believing that I eventually did have one, no matter what I had to do. So, at around 9 years old stuck in the woods at summer camp, I told my mom I’d been given a snake to take home as a pet, just like I’d been yearning for. I even had her buy it a little cage and bugs from the pet store for it to eat. The only problem was, nobody had given me a real snake, and all I had was a (shockingly real looking) plastic one. But every so often, I would sneak over to the cage I was keeping it in and move it over some so that my mom would never notice that it wasn’t actually alive. When she finally figured it out, she started out really angry with me for tricking her, but we both ended up in stitches over it in the end. It was so funny and weird of that she couldn’t stay mad at me. It was also the first time I’d ever lied to her. Somehow, I still feel a little guilty for it. I couldn’t tell you why I did it. I’m glad she took it so well. But I feel so bad for lying. Still.
I feel like the real snake.