Damn it. It was such a gorgeous day on Sunday that Jason and I made a trip to the tulip fields in Mount Vernon for the last day of the tulip festival. After some shenanigans while attempting to park (a flagger waved us into the lot and then a series of other flaggers waved us out again instead of directing us to a spot, causing us to have to run the flagger gauntlet again), we spent a few hours hanging out in the sunshine with brightly colored flowers. I wanted to sweep armloads of them out of the ground and stuff them in the car, but apparently that isn’t allowed, either. After we asked a stranger to take our picture and she somehow could not manage to push a button, we took a myspace photo and waited until we found someone more competent to ask to take our picture. This more competent person ended up being a 10 year old. Truly, children are our future.

^{“Feed me, Seymour!”}

Loads more pictures under the cut!

On our trip to Leavenworth, we passed through Monroe, which I had always assumed was a town of little note. Not so! At one point, Evan looked over and gasped “Reptile zoo!” The two of us chorused louder than any child could manage from the backseat, “REPTILE ZOO!” and demanded that we stop and visit. Emily temporarily halted our pleading by suggesting that we could stop in on the return trip, a compromise to which we were both amenable. I looked up their website on my phone and discovered they had an albino alligator, whose name we decided would be “Chompy”. I further decided I wanted to ride him. Unfortunately, by the time we got back from Leavenworth, the Reptile Zoo was closed for the day, and I was a bit too tired to throw the mighty tantrum that sort of disappointment mandates. So, on New Year’s Eve, we made a special trip to the Reptile Zoo. I was so excited about this trip, I made up a special song and dance number entitled “Goin’ to the Reptile Zoo” which essentially looks like any of my other dances but involves the tuneless singing of “We…are…going to…THE REPTILE ZOO!” over the top, along with some fist-pumping.

After we finished fooling with the big snake carving out front, I noticed that there were signs everywhere about where one ought to deposit one’s gum. The Reptile Zoo, in fact, seemed more concerned about gum than all of my grade school teachers combined. What was the deal with the gum? Is gum inherently the anti-snake? Do iguanas seek out discarded gum when they want to blow bubbles but end up making a mess everywhere? Does someone loathe minty-fresh breath?

When we got inside and paid our entry fee, I asked the woman what was up with all the gum signs, because clearly there must be a big issue, right? Right? Someone died and gum was involved, right? Wrong. Apparently someone dropped some on the carpet once and it made a stain. I don’t know that carpet stains should be among their biggest concerns–after all, they’re sharing a room with the WORLD’S TEN DEADLIEST SNAKES!

…oh. Actually, devenomization is probably for the best. The owners are apparently a little blase when it comes to fang-based danger as some of the tanks had cracks in the glass or little holes that snakes were furiously poking at with their noses in an effort to wreak bitey havoc. Also, after the camel incident* and the tiger incident** and the goose incident*** and the seagull incident**** and the cat incidents*****…I am far better off when nearby animals are not only behind glass but also deweaponized as much as possible. Nearly all of the animals in open-top enclosures had signs indicating that they either might bite or will bite, and that sort of certainty keeps even me from putting my hands where they don’t belong.

^{Handwritten signs in marker only add to the feeling of danger. The only writing implement more dangerous-feeling is the crayon, because the crayon says you well and truly just do not give a fuck.}

Danger! Chompy! Escapees! And BBQ! ALL UNDER THE CUT.