What the Eye Doesn't See
 (Read 250+ times)
By Ann Evans
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As usual I did my one hour stint in the garden. It may not sound much but nevertheless it’s regular. Kicking off my gardening shoes, I decided to reward myself with a nice cup of tea; no I’m not a martyr, I enjoy gardening but I do like to treat myself after completing certain tasks
As I leaned back against the kitchen sink, sipping my tea and enjoying the warm sunshine on my back, I noticed that the toes of my left foot were covered with a mango-like orange substance. I say mango-like because we eat an awful lot of mangos in our house and I naturally thought that I must have, somehow, trodden on a piece by accident. Failing that it could have come from the passion flower plant which grows uncontrollably over the garden wall, generously spilling its, ripe orange fruit everywhere. The mystery being, how did this gunk manage to find itself into the inside of my stout and well laced up shoe?
I tried to wipe the stuff from off my foot with a tissue but it wouldn’t budge, it stuck to my toes like glue. Puzzled, I went to the utility room, took hold of my left shoe and shook it vigorously. Shock, horror, I let out an almighty shriek; my husband thought I had been murdered. From out of the shoe flew an enormous, fat, brown and orange slug. It appears that the slug had sought refuge in my dark and damp shoe after having been brought in from the garden via another source; I blame my husband as he is always throwing his gardening gloves on the floor behind the utility room door.
The slug itself appeared to be properly formed but I wasn’t sure if it was still alive, after its ordeal; however at this moment I didn’t even care.
I vaguely remember dismissing the uncomfortable sensation I felt at the time of putting my bare foot into the shoe; after all, gardening shoes aren’t suppose to feel like carpet slippers. I must have pushed the slug right to the top of my shoe with my toes and as a consequent was rewarded with a handsome amount of gunk being squirted out all over my feet.
I had done a whole hour of gardening, blissfully unaware of the slug’s existence. I still freak out, even now, whenever I think about it. My husband didn’t know whom to feel sorrier for, me or the slug. Since then I always shake my gardening shoes just in case and of course I now wear socks.
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Author Bio Box: Ann Evans
You may never know what lurks in your gardening shoes when left unattended.
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