Argh! My last two posts have disappeared!! What in the bloody hell?! I hopped into blogger and tried to republish, but it's not happening... double-yoo-tee-eff?! *grumble* Eh. Thanks to those that commented, I read them all, thank you muchly.

As predicted, my body feels like it's been in the wars. Exercise, you suck. I swear, one of these days, I'm going to wake up ripped like Asian Jeebus with boobs. Chuck's been good, the punchage has been kept to a minimum. Whew.

Since it's a gloomy Wednesday afternoon and things are slow-going, I thought I'd share a story of my childhood, roughly when I was 5 years old. Please don't report me after reading this, as I am tortured by my conscience on a daily basis. Thank you in advance.

Growing up, I had always wanted sea snails. In my lifetime, I have been the proud owner of countless budgies, a couple dogs, a one-eyed cat, several rats, several guinea pigs, mice, tarantulas, scorpions, hermit crabs, and a monkey named Cheetah. I don't remember the monkey, but there were pictures of me in the Philippines, with my oversized head, and this monkey. My family took great pleasure in retelling the story of how it had scratched/bitten me in the back of the head because I was a shit kid. Apparently, my biological father sold him on the sly to feed some sort of habit. Whatever. Back to the story.

Every time we went to the GP for a check-up, or every time I went to hospital (I was a bit of a sick kid with severe asthma), there would always be a fishtank in the vicinity, and there would always be a handful of sea snails littered throughout, sucking on algae and fish poo. Great! A pet that is low-maintenance and quiet, what parent WOULDN'T love a kid who thought these things through?!

Every time I walked past those fishtanks, I'd ask. Every time we went to a pet store, I'd ask. Every time we went to the beach, I'd ask. Every time, I was met with a stern, 'NO.' I smuggled a few sea snails from the beach on several occasions, but they seemed to disappear and seal themselves up deep after a few hours... ummm.

I decided one foggy Spring morning to take matters into my own hands. It was garden snail season, and they were everywhere -- on doors, windows, grass, concrete -- EVERYWHERE. I was in snail heaven, and I knew I was going to be a good snail mother. I washed a big jar (about 750g) we had lying around, and walked into the yard with an extra skip in my step -- I figured if I could look after them in secret, hide them in the cubby house when I wasn't home, I'd show mum their smiling happy snailfaces in a fortnight, and she'd clearly see the error of her ways. I was set.

I filled my jar with room-temperature water, didn't want to boil the little suckers, and I didn't want them to shrink from the cold. Delicately, I picked the snails up, making sure to walk VERY slowly, placing them gently at the top of the water, so they could swim gracefully down. They did, and I felt like I had found my calling. BourbonBird - Snail Mother.

I remember heaps of seasnails all huddled in rockpools and assumed that they didn't mind cramped spaces, so I filled the jar as best as I could, stopping to leave about 2cm off the top of the jar, where the water had risen from my little makeshift village of snails. I sat there for ages, watching them swim around, and panic struck my heart when I noticed froth on the top -- oh no, SEA SNAILS LIKE SALTWATER! MY BABIES!! THEY NEED SALT!!

I could NOT have run any faster. If I did, I would've skittered on the linoleum like those stupid lapdogs that old crazy wenches own, falling flat on my face against the oven or something. Out of breath, I ran into the pantry and grabbed the salt -- MY SNAILS ARE IN DIRE NEED OF SALT!!!! I ran outside, exhausted, and played triage -- this was an emergency of epic proportions! Heaps of snails + heaps of froth = heaps of salt. So I poured. And poured. And poured. And poured some more.

I could've been the posterchild for Saxa salt, pouring with so much fury.

My plan had gone slightly awry, I had just calmed down a criseeeeeez, and I had to go to school. Putting the lid on, I thought maybe I could soothe my new pets by putting them on the windowsill of my cubby house with a full view of the backyard. Everyone loves a good view, right? I forgot to put holes in the lid, and the sill was in direct sunlight, ALL DAY. I rushed to school, smug in the knowledge that one day, I will be raising billions of baby snails. And we all know baby snails are so fucking cute, with their buggy stalky eyes and transparent little shells. The future looked so bright.

....

Some ridiculous amount of time elapsed, summat like two weekends later, before I went to play in my cubby house. I had COMPLETELY forgotten about my snailbabies. There, on the windowsill, was a jar of brown goop. Upon closer inspection, I saw what looked like a trillion shells, all upside down, and all so very still.

Uh-oh.

My mind flashed into paranoia-brainfart mode. What would my mum do? Are any of those snails still alive? What would my mum do? Do ghost snails exist? What would my mum do? Did the other snails that I spared see what I'd done? What would my mum do?

I did what any child would do. I sat under the cubby house, in the furthermost spidery corner. My heart pounding damn near out of my chest, and holding my nose with one hand, I opened the lid cautiously.

HOLY JEEBUS, MOTHER OF MARY ON A STICK, IT STUNK. LIKE DEATH.

Panicked, I screwed the lid on crookedly and stood in the yard pivoting in a blind rush. Where is my mum?? Gah, I hope she doesn't see this, she'll be pissed off for sure if she knew what it was. Salty deathsnail sludge spilling all over my hands, I freaked out, and squealed like a bitch. I threw the jar and the poor snails into the bushy un-mowed part of my neighbour's yard and ran inside to wash my hands furiously.

Every time I see a snail, I get overwhelmed by guilt. I nearly cried one morning when my husband kicked a snail off the front doorstep of our old place, and I couldn't sleep when I stepped on one from a late-night driving lesson.

If your child asks you for sea snails, just bloody give it to them. It'll spare the lives of other snails, and you won't wake up one morning to an empty container of salt.

To the snails I'd killed: I'm so sorry. I love you.