The Good Samaritan . . .

Frank and I took off after our usual Saturday lunch out, for one of our favorite activities . . . new house snooping. Do we intend to buy . . . nooooooooooooooo? But we love looking. This week we were headed to the new Martha Stewart design houses going up a couple of miles from us. You have to wonder what Martha is doing in our corner of the world. Anyway, they have three models showing. Two were so so and of course I fell in love with the middle one. OMG, slate floors, crown molding on top of crown molding, white bead board, french sink, columns (Frank hated the columns), the house was gorgeous. Whew! I could move right in . . . that's right, me the non-Stewart fan. So I went semi dressed, well I mean for me. White Capri's, white camisole, lavender over blouse. We left there and I convinced Frank he needed a cup of java for the road. No matter that the coffee house is part of a scrapbook store. So he settles in, coffee in hand and the football game on while I wander around picking out more paper . . . like I need paper. We finally leave and head out onto the four lane highway when I spy a turtle in distress. The poor guy is trying to cross the busy road just as it leads onto the interstate. I yell to Frank to pull over and rush out of the car to grab Yertle. Well Yertle doesn't want to be grabbed and now I am hot footing it around major congestion, trying to grab him to save his silly neck. I finally get a grasp on the sucker and realize he is full of slime, unhappy being elevated and thoroughly ticked off at me. I dodged his fat little CLAWED feet but when the head pops out and makes a whooshing snap noise, I realize this is no box turtle, it's a flipping snapper. A darned good sized snapper and it wants me . . . bad!!! So I scurried off to the side of the road trying to figure out who wants me to let go of him more, him or me. It is a moot question as the snap, snap, snap cuts a breeze past the index finger on my left hand and I have no desire to repeat my run in with the wood stork. I let go and he slip slides his way down into the drainage pond from whence I assume he came. I head back to the car with my slimy muddy Yertle hands and white clothing, hoping Frank has a napkin. Nope, we have nothing. And we still need to head to Publix for milk and shrimp. Now you understand why I love my cave????