a girl, a house on the beach, and a one-way ticket...day sixteen

So last night I decided to write on the back porch because, well...on a good night, this is what writers do.

I was lost (as is usually the very unfortunate case)somewhere in the quagmire of Chapter 2 when I heard a branch break in the miniature everglade that is my back yard. Heh, a bird, I thought. It's just a bird. It's just a very fat bird. A very fat bird who landed on a very thin branch. I put my head down again, feeling rather proud for ignoring the distraction that would so obviously entice lesser writers (such as myself on any one of the other 364 days of the year) to stop writing in order to investigate.*

And then the rustling started.

Heh, I thought. It's probably a turtle. Yes, it's probably just a turtle. Or maybe a large frog. But then I wondered, do turtles rustle? Do turtles or frogs--even large ones--really rustle in the proper sense of the word? I put pen to paper again, but this time admittedly I was pondering the anatomy of frogs and turtles in attempt to determine whether rustling could be considered one of their feasible modi operandi.

And then...and then--I kid you not--the rustling turned into the sound of very distinct foot falls. Now, frogs have legs--we all know this--and presumably they have feet. But frogs jump. They do not walk. Hence "foot falls" can safely be eliminated. And turtles have feet of some sort, too--no one would deny this. But turtles' normal pace, it was clear to me in this moment, would also in fact impede them from making the distinct sound of foot falls.

As only a former Indian Princess and New Yorker** could do, I took a quick inventory of the remaining possibilities and none boded well: alligator, crocodile, panther, or serial killer.

I sat there frozen trying to match the sound of the very distinct foot falls with the possible predator for a good 10 minutes and then--I'm not proud to say--realized I'm her. I'm the girl who sits frozen on the back porch for a good 10 minutes playing Name That Predator while that predator lurks nearby waiting not to welcome me to the neighborhood with some lovely gift (say, perhaps a pie or a box of Girl Scout Cookies) but to POUNCE AND SHRED ME TO PIECES.

So, yeah...one minute I'm Earnest Hemingway and the next I'm the get-up-and-run!-run!-you-dumb-dumb-girl! in scary movies who sits frozen when she should be hightailing it out of there. Had I been shredded to pieces I would have fully deserved it.***

*investigation is only one of a thousand perfectly legitimate alternatives writers turn toward to in order to avoid writing. Others to which I can personally attest include day-tripping to discounted vitamin outlets, french braiding my shoelaces, and googling my middle-school boyfriends.

**Both Indian Princesses (that's Princess Raindrop to whomever is asking and yes, we were waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay cooler than the Brownies (minus the cookie thing)) and New Yorkers are very skilled in, as Chief Thundercloud and Rudy Giuliani used to like to say, "Situational Awareness."

"Situational Awareness" exponentially reduces your chances of being eaten by a black bear should one sneak up on you while you are sleeping in a tent in one of your fellow Indian Princesses' backyards. It also exponentially reduces your chances in NYC of being kidnapped, robbed, or mowed down by a kidnapper, robber or tipsy hipster on a retro-cool Huffy--respectively.

***It is true that I survived last night's potential attack, but let me assure you that contrary to the popular notion that Naples is a tame, laid back place, other southwestern Florida perils exist.

The ones to which I can also personally attest include covert sprinkler systems with haphazard "OH LOOK I'M NAILING YOU NOW, LADY, REGARDLESS OF THE HOUR YOU JUST SPENT GETTING READY FOR YOUR DINNER DATE WHICH HAHHAHAHHAHHAHA YOU WILL NOW BE LATE FOR" timing, traffic cops with such a fierce propensity for issuing a ticket for something! anything! they make Cleveland feel like the autobahn, and large beetles that apparently have a thing for tallish blonds with long arms.