Kudzu Queen

By Tamara Ducote

I’m thinking of taking the brass numbers off the front of the house and replacing them with a sign that says “Love Shack.” Or maybe I’ll call Hollywood and see if anybody is interested in buying a new series called “Sex and The City of Chickasaw.” It would be filmed on location, here in my house. No, I would not be the star. I don’t get that kind of action. This new show would have to air very late at night on cable, as it is comprised of reptile pornography, mainly.

My sweet, docile iguana, Goo, has changed. First, she became uncharacteristically aggressive. One day I was feeding Goo dandelion flowers out of my hand. The next day, she was chasing me from room to room and launching herself at me, in full attack mode. I got used to running into the shower and blasting hot water on the lizard to make her relinquish my flesh from her bulldog bite. I developed some impressive wounds, which I enjoyed showing my friends while they were eating. My 17-year-old daughter did not like these new developments, though. Veronica began coming out of her room even less than before. And she quit using the front and back doors. She just clambers in and out of her bedroom window, so she won’t run the risk of a chance encounter with Goo in an interior hallway.

“Veronica, I need to talk to you,” I said. “Open your door.”

“NO. The lizard will get me.”

“V., I really need to talk to you about this scholarship application.”

“Slide a note under the door.”

I was alarmed, but mostly just curious, about Goo’s sudden change in demeanor. She went from pet to predator in one day. Then her head turned periwinkle blue, which should have been a clue. My epiphany came when Goo showed me her hemipenes. This is the fancy word for iguana penises (or would that be penii?). Iguanas have two penii. When Goo first flashed them at me, I thought that maybe “she” had somehow sliced open her abdomen and her guts were bursting out. I handled this coolly and professionally, like always, by shrieking hysterically for help.

“Veronica!” I screamed, as I pounded on her locked bedroom door with my fists, “Let me in! NOW! Aliens are hatching out of the lizard’s stomach!”

“Now I’m REALLY not EVER opening my door.”

“Veronica, open your door right this damn minute.”

“Slide a note under.”

“Veronica, open up, this is IMPORTANT.”

“Then put an exclamation mark at the end of the note.”

You see the kind of help I get around here. I tried to reason with the iguana.

“Quit showing me those things,” I said. “I’m menopausal. All that stuff is wasted on me. Go try to impress the cat.”

The lizard did try to court the cat. It took a cup of coffee over the iguana to get him to relinquish his snapping turtle bite on the yowling, 15-pound tomcat. The cat won’t come in the house, since. Which I guess saves me money on cat litter.

I took to wearing two sweatshirts and a pair of welders’ gloves around the house, which lessened the damage from the lizard attacks. I bought a super-duper, 9 gazillion page long book on iguanas, which helped me to understand that Goo’s behavioral issues are the normal expression of iguana horniness, plus “her” confusion and anger at having been mislabeled as a female all of her life.

Goo developed an erotic obsession with my forearms. I’d never before realized my forearms are so powerfully alluring. All these years, I’ve been flashing the wrong body part to traffic cops. From now on, screw the cleavage. I’ll just roll up my sleeves and the patrolmen will become putty in my hands.

I awoke from a nap one horrifying afternoon to find Goo vigorously making love to my forearm. Before I could dislodge Goo, this horrible cottage-cheesy kind of stuff spurted out of his penii.

This was like having an amorous dog hunch on your leg, only ten thousand times grosser. I threw those two sweatshirts away. I could not bear to throw them in the washer with the rest of the laundry. I guess I need to make a trip to Goodwill, to stock up on one-time-use-only disposable sweatshirts. Hell, I might even throw that garbage can away.

“Veronica, let me in this damn room! The lizard just spermed all over my arm!”

“Leave me alone. I’m packing my things. I’m running away.”

Then she added, “Slide some money under the door.”

Following the advice of an iguana Web site, I bought a green, stuffed love toy for Goo. This was supposed to focus the lizard’s desires, so he would leave the rest of the household alone. I could not find a stuffed green iguana within my budget (two bucks), so I brought home a stuffed green duck. It worked, for the first day. Goo made hours of vigorous love to the duck. I found Goo later, reclined under the computer table, exhausted and smoking a teeny tiny cigarette.

After that, Goo treated the green duck like yesterday’s news. It was obviously a one-day stand. My lizard is evidently a real pig. I gave the duck to the dogs, for a chew toy. NO, I don’t want to think about what all they’re chewing, ok?

How it stands now is that Goo roams the house, masturbating at will on various objects. “She” leers at me whenever I appear, but I’m triple-sweatshirted now. The book and the Web sites tell me that this breeding-season craziness shall pass.

Meantime, if anybody sees Veronica, tell her it’ll be safe for her to come home around February. Thanks.

Contact Tamara Ducote at TDDucote6@aol.com.

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