"Gator!" the woman yelled from the car window.
I scratched my head and wondered why she had just yelled gator from the middle of the road.
"Gator!" she called again, this time pointing to a spot near the side of the house, the same side my 2 yr old was playing on.
From my seat on the back patio I watched the woman open her car door, get out and run towards me. "What the heck is she doing?" I thought.
"Gator, gator," she cried.
Feeling that something bad was about to happen I stood up. Walked to the edge of the patio and shit my pants (symbolically, of course). Cuz there on the side of the house following my son was a 5ft gator.
"Gator, gator!" the woman kept screaming.
Without thinking I scopped up my son, not even looking at the gator, and whisked him into the house, shutting and locking the sliding glass doors behind me. We watched the gator walk to the woods. With a sinking feeling in my tummy I felt bad I didn't get to thank the woman for sounding the alarm, but no way was I gonna go outside where that gator was. Are you kidding me? I'm never gonna go out agian! Florida's horrible. My friend used to say, "After you've lived in New York, everywhere else is just camping."
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