Last fall I burned down Gatorland…with my mind. (If you wish to skip the link, the upshot is I wrote a novel chapter in which the whole plot twisted after a tragic fire at Gatorland, and then Gatorland had a tragic fire).
Today I made amends to the gators by visiting their Land. Took many pictures. Too tired to post them all, but I liked the sign about the fire in the Dwarf African Crocodile’s enclosure:
[have to repost the picture, sorry]
Mr. O wasn’t cooperating for pictures, but when you can snap your jaws shut with 90 zillions pounds of pressure and drag large creatures underwater to drown them and consume at your leisure, you can pretty much be as uncooperative as you wish.
Then we went to the Waffle House, our own natural habitat.
You need to come home. Soon. And we need to chat. About Passover at a minimum. Come home dammit! No swamp!
my mother has the uncanny ability to make bad things happen by thinking about them — we’ve always been convinced it’s some kind of curandera-ism/witchcraft thing.
Please don’t write about me! :)
Mr. O… no! Don’t you hate when that happens? Crocland Burning [a short story title that studios would pay top dollar to produce] sounds a lot like – no, you know what? I should probably get busy wishing up some more-specific causal details.
TXSkatemom won the Boston Marathon!
There. You can thank me later :-)