The One With The Lizard

Oh.my.god. Y’all will never guess what happened to me this morning. I swear to Oprah that I just about crapped myself. Now, I have been in some scary situations. I’ve been held at gun point, I’ve wrecked a car, I’ve been on a plane without landing gear and I’ve been caught in a rip tide, but NOTHING, nothing is as scary as what happened this morning.

I am not a morning person, first of all and I spend most of the first two hours of my day on autopilot waiting for the caffeine to kick in. In my zombie state I swung the garage door open. Then, out of the sky, out of nowhere, a lizard drops INTO MY SHIRT.

So, naturally, I start screaming. Because there is a lizard. And it is in my shirt. And it is touching me. And it is a LIZARD IN MY SHIRT.

So there I am, screeching like a Banshee in my driveway at six in the morning, red hair standing straight out on end, whipping my shirt off and throwing it down the driveway as far as a tee shirt will throw. Which is three feet.

And God bless him, Drunk Grandpa, my erstwhile boyfriend, comes running from across the street shovel in hand to save me.

“You! Mijah! Okay?”

And I manage to stammer something along the lines of “LIZARD LIZARD LIZARD!” and point at my discarded shirt.

Then he looks at the shirt and then at me and then at the shirt which is not ON me and a slow smile spreads across his face.

Now, I fully expect lizards to drop from the sky every time I leave my house.

Which I will never, ever do again.