Slugs in My Slippers

When Elizabeth was just a baby and Ornery was in his last semester at ORU, we were offered a job of house-sitting for a TU professor while he took his family for seven months to live in Australia.  The place was bigger than any house either of us had ever lived in, and it was not very far from the school.  We only had to pay for utilities--it was a wonderful opportunity for us.

The back yard was terraced with railroad ties, and had huge trees shading most of the yard.  I can't remember for sure if the patio was brick or plain cement, but I do recall it was a nice area.  We had a little electric grill, a hand-me-down from Ornery's parents when they replaced it with a new one--that I sometimes used back there.  (In those days, I prepared all the meals unless there was an actual fire involved, but I only recall using charcoal a handful of times in all the years we have been together.)

One day Ornery had come home very tired and was taking a short nap while I heated up the grill.  I love bare feet when the temperature is nice, so naturally I did not have shoes on.  The shady patio was a favorite haunt for slugs, a fact I was unaware of until I went out to turn on the grill that afternoon and stepped on one of the slimy little creatures with my bare feet.  It squished between my toes and as soon as I realized what it was I went a little crazy.

I alternately screamed and yelled, "Eew, gross!!  DAVID!!!"  Poor guy came running, afraid something dreadful had happened.  It took some time before I calmed enough to fix the food, and any hope he had of a nap evaporated as he tried to calm his heart rate from my horrified (and high volume!) reaction.  We have (or rather he has) laughed about the incident from time to time through the years, but any time I see a slug trail, the memory resurfaces and my skin crawls a little.

There are few things that rile me up like a slug--the only other thing that comes to mind right off is llamas. But slugs on my skin-- I just really can't think of a worse form of torture.  This morning Ornery and I woke up early.  I was all for sleeping just a bit longer, but he was wide awake at 3:00, so we ventured out to the patio with coffee cups in hand.  I was wearing my sheeps (the nickname I gave my sheep-skin slippers) but since it was warm (75 degrees) outside, after a while I kicked them off and rested my feet on the little throw rug I have in front of the rockers.

After a while of sitting there with my bare feet, I decided to put the slippers back on. The right foot slid in just fine, but when I stuck my left foot in, the edge of the slipper was wet as though I had spilled something in it--only I hadn't.  I reached my hand in and grabbed a slug--which was only marginally better than stepping on it.  The slipper flew from my hand as I yelped and tried to get my crawling skin to settle down.  Since I had my coffee mug in the other hand, Ornery was just sure it would soon be shards on the concrete.

I jumped up and took the slipper across the patio and banged it several times on the side of the house to dislodge the critter, then made Ornery look inside to make sure it was gone.  I couldn't bear the thought of reaching back inside to feel around, knowing it would still be slimy and wet in there.

I told Elizabeth about it a short time later, saying I thought it might be time for some slug-bait.  After she gleefully commiserated with me with a hearty "EEEWWW!!" she said, "Yeah, organic is fine till you find a slug in your slippers!"  I will try for a natural alternative first, but yeah, that guy's days are numbered!