I’ve well documented my snake phobia over the years, but I’ll reiterate for newcomers: don’t like snakes. No rational reason why. Like a lot of people. Having a snake-loving kid has forced me to face my fear, because I don’t want to act like a terrified ninny in front of her. I’m pretty sure I developed my fear by seeing my mom act like a terrified ninny in regards to snakes. With that logic, mice should scare me so badly that I make my child empty the mousetraps while I stand on a chair, weeping. I’m not afraid of rodents. Don’t want them in my house but I’m content to co-exist. Snakes, though … *shudder*

In the past few years, thanks to my daughter and a good therapist, I’ve made some progress on the snake front. Not that I’m making any visits to the reptile house at the zoo, but I didn’t wet myself last summer when Clara Jane made friends with a giant red snake at the children’s zoo.

That’s not enough progress to handle a “reptile experience” kids birthday party.

One of Clara Jane’s favorite schoolmates turned four last week. To celebrate, his parents invited someone with an assortment of lizards, giant bugs, and snakes into their home, along with a hoard of kids. What could possibly go wrong?

I’m glad to report that no one was eaten.

The critter portion of the party happened in the basement, so the phobics had the option of booting their kids down the stairs and staying upstairs. I planned on doing this, but two little girls from Clara Jane’s class begged me to go downstairs. Seeing as I desperately want to be in the preschool “in” crowd, I went.

Clara Jane sat on Brian’s lap on the floor with the rest of the kids. I stood by the bar, behind a table, in case I needed to make a hasty escape. Or grab a swig of gin.

You know I’m in dire condition if drinking gin becomes an option.

But it wasn’t bad. Matt, the reptile educator, connected with the kids. So did the animals. Literally. This is the moment when I requested a beer:

See the python that tiny child is holding? It had just licked Clara Jane’s head! Well, it might not have made actual contact, but from my perch by the bar, behind the large table, it looked like he might be sizing her up for a snack. Beer me, Birthday Boy’s Grandma!

I’m not a total wimp. When they brought out the tarantula, I got in line to hold it. Spiders, no problem. I’d rather not have them in my house, and I harbor an intelligent fear of the spider varieties who can kill my flesh with their venom. But the big, hairy guys? I like them.

Not that I got to hold him for long. “You’re really shaking!” Matt, the reptile dude, pointed out.

“It’s not because of the spider. It’s because the snake that tried to eat my baby is four inches in front of me and he won’t stop looking at me!”

My hand shook so violently because of the fucking snake that Matt made me return the tarantula, as he was afraid I was going to scare it and get myself a handful of venomous spider hair spikes.

Okay, so maybe I am a total wimp.

After holding the spider I came out from behind my protective furniture. Even though I had what could pass for a bad case of the DTs, I was actually feeling pretty calm. It was a controlled environment, so what’s to fear? Not like snakes are going to drop out of the trees. Because that’s just the worst idea Mother Nature ever had. Snakes dropping from trees. Holy God, I could have a lifetime of night terrors on that subject alone.

Beer me, Granny!

So I moved away from the table, mainly so I could get pictures of my kid’s face instead of the back of her head. Not that she was doing much. Matt explained at the beginning of the program that, because reptiles can carry salmonella in their skin, the kids would need to wash and disinfect their hands after handling the animals. Clara Jane explained that while she enjoys cold-blooded creatures that could eat her for a mid-afternoon snack, she didn’t want to deal with washing her hands a gazillion times. She got a good look of every animal courtesy of Brian, though:

Hold on a second. I have to pause for a panic attack, mental breakdown, and some dry heaving.

That creature near my two beloveds … it looks like a snake, right? Oh no. It’s something worse than a snake. Worse than a snake!!! It’s a “legless lizard”, which is another term for “evil slithering on the face of the earth”.

I’ve never believed that good and evil are black and white issues. Until I met this guy. It looks like a snake, but it chews. And its tail shatters into a bazillion pieces to scare the shit out of humans. Oh, and it likes to bite with its mouthful of cartilage plates, then twist around and around and around so you can really feel it.

Bad time to move out from behind the table. Before, when Matt brought the animals for petting, I had the length of a table separating me from any creature I didn’t want near me. Not this time. No. This time he was less than a foot away from me with Twisty McNolegs, who was just rolling away in Matt’s hands, surely warming up for sinking his cartilage plates into my sweet, ample flesh. “Wanna touch him?”

Now, I had informed Matt during the spider incident that I’m snake phobic, so I don’t think it was very nice that he stepped even closer to me with his exploding faux snake and said, “Oh, c’mon! He’s a lizard, not a snake!”

In front of a basement full of my kid’s peers, I officially lost my shit. We’re talking full-on panic, complete with head-to-toe gooseflesh, flop sweat, and the need to empty my digestive tract in whatever way might be quickest. I turned my back and loudly chanted, “No no no no no no no no no no no no no no!” while Matt and Cartiledge Gums loomed behind me.

I swear, I could feel that fucking snake’s legless lizard’s presence in my hair.

I should have gone upstairs, but dammit, I’m going to conquer this! I’m not leaving until I’m Queen of the Reptiles, dammit! What’s next? A chameleon? Give the little bastard to me!

Someone standing next to me didn’t hesitate to grab my camera from my free hand and snap this shot. I’m so glad, too. Now I have documentation of the post-legless lizard flop sweat. See my forehead? My entire body looked like that.

One of the parents, Dan, took great delight in my fear. That’s okay. I like Dan so he can be a little mean to me in the name of humor. He had no problems with any of the creatures, nor did his son. They held and petted everything.

Before the big finale (housed in a Rubbermaid tub the size of the cab of my truck), Matt asked Dan if he could assist. They conversed and then Dan came to me. “If you’re really scared of snakes, this might be a good time to leave.”

I moved closer to the stairs.

They pulled a 10′ albino python from the tub.

I went up the stairs as far as I could while still being able to see.

Watching Matt and Dan drape the 60-odd pounds of giant white snake over the kids? Couldn’t handle it. The sweats took over. By now I was so sweaty I could be classified as amphibious. I sloshed my way upstairs and out the door, where I stood on the porch, sweating and shivering, contemplating a good vomit.

I’m so glad I didn’t eat birthday cake. If I’d vomited birthday cake, I’d never forgive myself.

After I got my shit together I returned to the basement, just in time to see this:

Ah, that’s my husband. He’s a slave 4 u. And since he’s been tainted with albino python, you can have him.

Panic attacks, flop sweat, and possible divorce aside, it really was a great party. Educational, interactive (even when I didn’t want it to be) and fun. The kids had a blast, which is what counts.

And best of all, no one was eaten, and no animals exploded.