May 24, 2013
Last weekend I was reading by the pool and The Hub (as usual) was puttering around the yard looking at things, touching things, and poking at things, like all men do. Seriously, you guys. It’s in their DNA. My dad used to say he was going out to survey his property, and he would wander around aimlessly for an hour. I don’t know what he was doing exactly, but my guess is that he was scouting out the property for a possible Shawshanking. You know, an “If I were to hide a soup spoon from dinner in my underwear and try to dig an escape tunnel under the cover of night, would it be better to go under the garden, or the alleyway?” type of thing. But who knows?
Anyway, the point is that during this puttering, The Hub once again decided to clean the pool filter, and guess what?
That’s right, people. Shelldon was in there. Again.
Shelldon is alive!
Last week, after Shelldon and I had that amazing day together (the best day of Shelldon’s life, I’m pretty sure), I set him free in a bush in the corner of our yard and I thought that he would be on his merry way to find the next adventure. I had no idea that he was gonna dive right back into the pool again and end up in the same freaking predicament that he was in the week before. I obviously thought that he was smarter than that. But, it turns out that turtles just aren’t that brainy. Or perhaps he thinks of our pool filter as some sort of grotto. Like Hugh Heffner has at the playboy mansion. Maybe he likes to hang out in there in the hopes that some sexy lady turtles will join him. Maybe Shelldon’s reality is skewed because he watches too much Cinemax.
After being reunited with Shelldon, I asked him to tell me why he keeps doing that, but he wouldn’t. But when I asked him about my Cinemax/Heffner suspicions, he DID blink and look away, which is basically a “yes” in my book. I don’t know if you knew this or not, but I am a self-proclaimed expert in the art of reading body language. And I don’t give out that title willy nilly. Like most things that I proclaim myself an expert in (i.e. Krav Maga, Feng Shui, and basket weaving), I earned it from myself by telling myself that I deserved it, so I told myself that I could have it.
Because of my extensive experience and expertise in communicating with a husband who refuses to converse in the mornings until he has been awake for at least 3 hours, I was able to get plenty of information out of Shelldon that day by simply asking him lots of questions and using my body language decipheration techniques.
Turns out, last time he visited me he was playing it cool. He was pretending to be totally chill, free-spirited, and badass, but the truth is that he has a secret past. Shelldon is Amish. I don’t know how familiar you guys are with Rumspringa, but Shelldon was on it. Rumspringa is when Amish adolescents are allowed the freedom to explore the outer world and decide if they want to remain Amish, or become, in Shelldon’s case, a Michael Jackson impersonator/mountain climber.
(If the video won’t work for you, you can watch Shelldon Moonwalk HERE)
There’s no denying that Shelldon is good at what he does. That little dude can moonwalk like a mofo, and although the video got cut off at the end because I suck at recording things, trust me when I tell you that he can climb a mountain like a sonuvabitch. Ain’t no denying his talents. That’s for sure.
But I sensed that Shelldon was making the wrong decision. Yes, I saw the tear in his right eye when he wasn’t telling me about his Amish community. And I saw the little wag in his tail when he didn’t tell me jack shit about the pretty little turtle who lived under the bush next door. That tail wag had “love” written all over it. Trust me, I am an expert.
So I told Shelldon that he had to go back. When he closed his eyes tightly I knew that meant “Why the frick should I listen to you?” So I said “Because I spent the 90’s watching Oprah!” And when he pulled his head back into his shell, and I could tell that I had won.
I fed him some lettuce, he took a little dump, and I took him to the far corner of the yard and let him go. Again.
Two hours later, we were in the house chillaxin’ and The Hub decided since it had been approximately 120 minutes since he had last aimlessly wandered around the yard, it was time to do it again. After he opened the back door he told me to come take a look at something. So I did. This is what I saw:
Yep. That’s Shelldon sitting on my doorstep. He had to climb up a brick step to get there. I told you he was a good climber. Our yard is HUGE, so he had taken quite a journey in that past 2 hours to get there., and I nearly died because this was seriously one of the cutest things that I had ever seen. But also a bit stalkery, right? So once I got past the whole cute part, I was all “Shelldon, I thought we discussed this! You need to go home to be with your Amish turtles. You can’t be here. THIS IS NOT YOUR WORLD!” But he still wasn’t budging. And although a part of me was all “If he made this kind of a journey to get here then I should totally keep him!” the other, more brainy and less hearty part of me was all:
“This feline is going to torture you for days and then swallow you whole, if I don’t step on you first.”
So we took him down to the Bayou and sent him on his way. I like to imagine him hopping onto a big leaf and floating down the river until a frog named Jim (that has just made a great escape from some little kid’s terrarium), hops aboard to have adventures with him until they get back to Shelldon’s home. Shelldon’s family will be so happy to see him. They will feed Jim a traditional Amish meal of Hungry Man Frozen Dinners and let him sleep in the barn for a few days while he helps ready the summer gardens. By the end of the week they will have grown to love Jim and he will stay with them and convert to Amishism. The girl who lives behind the bush, fearful that she would never see him again, decides to profess her love upon his return. They will have 37 babies who will all be good at moonwalking and climbing things. One of those turtles (named Jackson), will show up on my doorstep during his own Rumspringa. Unfortunately, he will show up on a night when I’ve had too many Modelos and I will step on him.
I’m sure I’m right about this. In addition to the Krav Maga, Feng Shui, basket weaving, and body language reading, I am also an expert at seeing into the future. Or maybe I’m an expert at using my imagination. I don’t know. I sometimes get those two confused.
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Iva Shields, Leslie Dawn Roberston, and Melody Bachus.
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