Finishing my business in the bathroom one morning, I saw her out of the corner of my sleep-bleary eyes. A tiny lizard holding as still as she could, including her breath.
At first I thought she was a rubber toy of my son’s, she sat so still. But while I washed my hands, I sneaked a peek, and while I sneaked a peek, she turned her neck and sneaked a peek back.
I moved to the door and hollered a few things at Lizzie the Lizard. And while the Very Large Me panicked at the sight of the Very Small She, Lizzie the Lizard does what a lizard does best, and she skirted and skedaddled off towards somewhere, primarily in the direction of the opposite way of me.
No problems. Lizzie the Lizard will find her way out just like she found her way in, I thought with my pre-coffee brain.
And there I am, back in the bedroom, fleshing out my eyelashes with mascara, and Lizzie the Lizard is as still as she can be on the carpet near my bed.
She has to leave the house before I leave the house. It's time to assess my options, which don’t include my coming near Lizzie the Lizard to befriend her. Finally, I offer my son $10 if he transports Lizzie into the free world. And he accepts. Scoops her up just like that and sets her free in the alley.
