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Let me start by making something absolutely clear: I am petrified of snakes. Over-the-top; screaming, hysterical, pathologically afraid of snakes. Don’t try to talk me out of it. It won’t work. Nothing personal, I’m just afraid of snakes. OK, so here goes the story. It was a Friday night, around 9 or 10. Kids asleep, I settle into a big, comfy chair to cuddle and get some long-overdue alone time with hubby. I’m pretty relaxed, it’s Friday, after all, nothing pressing over the weekend. So I’m looking forward to some kiss and cuddle time. Hubby is channel-surfing and what does he land on? “Snakes on a Plane”. There goes my nice, relaxed, affectionate evening. Hubby has learned, over many years, the HARD way, what the sight of snakes does to me. He doesn’t even try to take me off the ledge. Just a kiss good-night, with a helpful, “go take a Tylenol PM”, and a pat on the back. The following Sunday, after church and brunch, we’re back at my parents’ house. Alex goes into the backyard with h