Weird Fact Wednesday

I am terrified of the Florida lizards. I call them "Florida lizards" because I'm not sure what they are. Geckos? Chameleons? Small iguanas? No idea.

(See image at right. This picture was taken at my wedding. This particular picture is from my official wedding album, but I can't tell you how many angles of this lizard I have seen in all the wedding candids family members sent me. Everyone noticed him, and everyone thought he was adorable. He was the most popular guest.)

In any event, I am terrified of them. Do I think they're cute? Yes. Do I think they are way creepier than they are cute? To that I give you a, "Hell, yes!"

I'm not exactly sure why they creep me out so bad. It could be because I find them a bit dishonest with the blending. Just be who and where you are, for the love of Pete.

OR

It could be due to the unfortunate encounter I had with one such lizard in my very first apartment in Florida.

Tim was working that night at Ruby Tuesday, so I was home alone. This was pre-Azrael, pre-Styx and pre-Hydra, so it was just me and Hades, who was a tiny little kitten at the time. (He was so damn cute, wasn't he?)

Nature called, so I went to the bathroom, and very shortly after I sat down I heard a small "splash." Confused, since I hadn't done anything as of yet, I turned to peer into the toilet.

And there he was, a Florida lizard about 4 inches long. All clear and veiny, attempting to blend in with the white porcelain.

I freaked.

I slammed the toilet lid shut and ran for the phone.

"There's a lizard in the toilet," I told Tim when he finally came to the phone. I could hear busy kitchen sounds behind him.

"What?" he asked.

"There's a lizard in the toilet!"

"So?"

"What do you mean, 'so?' I can't pee with a lizard in the toilet! What if he tried to crawl upstream?"

"So flush him."

"No way!"

"Why?"

"What if he clogs the toilet?"

"Baby, please, I've taken craps bigger than a lizard. He's not going to clog the toilet."

"Well, it's mean."

"Then you're just going to have to get him out."

"Can you come get him out?"

"Are you kidding?"

"No!"

"Baby..."

"Fine. I'll figure it out."

I got off the phone with Tim, letting him go back to work, and went back to the bathroom to check on the lizard. Still there, still trying to blend. And I still had to pee.

I called Rob Miller, husbad of my friend Tracy, and most recent roommate. I had, practically, the identical conversation with Rob.

"So you're not going to come get him out?" I asked Rob.

"Nope, sorry, you're on your own."

"But I really have to pee."

"So come here."

Which is what I did. Instead of attempting to deal with the lizard, or pee on top of him and flush him, I drove 10 minutes to Rob and Tracy's house to use their bathroom, and then drove back home.

When I got home, the lizard was gone, and I haven't ever again encountered one in my toilet, but ever since then I have lived in fear of the lizards.

Weird.