I live in my parent's basement. Yeah, cool, I know. Anywho.
Today I came downstairs to get dressed before heading off to a barbecue. I took off my sweatpants and decided to put on the same pair of shorts that I wore yesterday. Don't judge me, the Bible says not to.
I picked them up and walked toward my dresser, turned back around to put my shorts on and there is was.
A FREAKIN' SNAKE. SNAKE SNAKE SNAKE SNAKE IN MY ROOM. ON MY FLOOR. UNDER MY PANTS. IN MY ROOM. A SNAKE.
Cue bloodcurdling scream.
Logically, I ran outside in a t-shirt and my underwear screaming for help. I thought that I might die. A snake is a snake until it's in the room that you sleep in.
For some reason, no one came to my rescue immediately. Finally my mom made her way towards me, her FRANTIC daughter. My dad came to the rescue and had to drag the snake out of my room under the pressure of a shovel. I stood on the couch and pointed and cringed.
Now I'm paranoid because I have no idea how long that thing there. Shiver. Disgusting.
Molly is staying with me tonight. She's a regular snake slayer.
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