I’m normally a live and let live kind of person. I let flies out the window rather than swatting them. I go out of my way to avoid stepping on worms that are wriggling across the sidewalk. But when it’s comes to slugs I’m adopting a scorched earth policy. Why have I turned from a normally peaceful person into a they-all-must-die fanatic?

It all started a few years ago when I walked through my in-laws garage. Something wet plopped onto my head. I thought it was a raindrop because the weather had been rather rainy but then wet slime oozed from my scalp down my neck. Of course I engaged in the requisite freak-out while my husband tried to find whatever it was that had landed on my head.

“It’s a slug,” he said. “I’ll try to get it out without squishing it.”

So not only was I being covered in disgusting slime, there was the great possibility of slug guts being added to the situation. After my husband removed the slug, still intact thank God, I ran into the house and washed my hair three times before I was sure all the slug slime was gone.

I have tried to put that incident behind me. But yesterday, I sat out on the deck after a rainstorm while wearing capris. I felt something wet wriggle against the back of my knee and then slide down my calf. I thought it was a rain drop. Nope. It was a big fat slimy slug. This resulted in me screaming and jumping up and down until the slug fell off. My husband came running because he thought I’d hurt myself. When he saw it was a slug he was relieved. I was not.

I ran into the house and threw all my clothes into the washer, and then decided that I needed a shower. Luckily the slug on the deck acted alone. There were no other slugs present on my person. But, now I’m scared to sit on the deck in the slug infested patio furniture. When, or rather if I go sit outside again, I am taking a for-sure-slug-free kitchen chair outside with me. At this point we might as well sell the patio furniture because I don’t think I’ll ever sit in it again.