I’ve been trying to maintain my sense of humor this summer for my girls through this head thing so I don’t worry them. Oldest tends to worry, and, well, so does Little One.
Last week, Oldest was mowing the lawn and I was covering the grill. I found several bright orange slugs attached to the cover that had been crumpled overnight near the compost container. I took a slender metal stake that was nearby and skewered a few.
I thought I was being funny with my slug kabob (or slugabob as 5-11 SexyBoi-SexyTwang called it). I held it out to show Oldest as she pushed the mower past and I faked taking a bite. I lost my balance or something (I just do that these days) and the slugs went flying. They bounced off my hands and body and deposited orange goo all over me. Of course this whole maneuver got both of us laughing.
Brushing my hands in the grass did nothing to remove the slug slime. I ran inside and washed it off after eww-ing a few times. Went back out and realized it wasn’t off. Went back inside and repeated the procedure. Now, you’re thinking that I must be a moron and can’t wash my hands or am just rinsing like a kid would do. No. I’m psycho about hand-washing. Especially since I worked in food prep and in schools before. Out again. Two more spots still remained on my hands. What. The. Heck?
Still slippery. Still orange.
My mind started racing with the potential economic profits of my find. Skin moisturizer? Wrinkle cream? Tanning solution? Personal lubricant? High temp engine lubricant? The possibilities were endless. Imagine driving around in a nice car or living in a house funded by slugs…finally a purpose for these destructive garden critters.
|Sacrificial Alter. You should see how many people freak out when|
your toddler is saying that as one of their first phrases.
Slugs, especially these dusky slugs, are prolific. Ask anyone with a garden. Just a few weeks ago, I hand-picked 57 off my lemon thyme and put them in our sacrificial alter (a feeder for the birds in the center of the bird bath). Little One was fascinated by how many I was finding and counted them for me. That’s how I knew how many I had.
|Seems like such a waste of good beer, but this was from one night's catch in the lemon thyme. I was surprised at how many baby slugs ended up in there. |
Guess they are born with a taste for Landshark.
Well, all this seemed like a really great idea until I began seeing a correlation between touching slugs and getting poison ivy. Pluck a few slugs from the mulch; poison ivy on my arm. Pull dozens off my lemon thyme; poison ivy on my thighs. Make one lousy slug kabob; and, well, omg, it’s where I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. And, no, I was not testing the personal lubricant idea… As a facial moisturizer or wrinkle cream, I didn’t need my eyes swelling shut and having to go to the doctor for prednisone from some sort of venereal slug disease (another 5-11 SexyBoi-SexyTwang phrase).
So, what can I do? Buy more Ivarest, keep my fingers away from itchy places, catch more slugs without touching them and just keep laughing.
|I need to buy stock in this stuff. Seriously.|