Not for the Faint of Heart

Let me preface this by saying I have mixed feelings about this post. Because I know it'll paint me as a beer chugging, wrasslin' watching redneck (which is the farthest thing from the truth).

With that being said, I killed and skinned a rattlesnake yesterday.

Yes, you read that right. There's nothing like celebrating America's birth with a little wild game hunting.

This activity wasn't exactly planned. I went out to my aunt's farm for an impromptu 4th of July cookout...and stumbled upon this vile creature behind the barn. And had no choice but to smash it with a shovel.
After my panicky, light-headed feeling subsided, my granddad and I took it back to the house to show everybody. Amid screams of revulsion, my aunt proclaimed she wanted to save it's skin (for what purpose, I'm still not sure).

In a complete out-of-body experience, I heard myself say that I'd try my hand at it. Nothing like putting your big girl panties on and facing your fears, right?

Lucky for you, I have pictures of the entire process (and they're quite a cross between Jack Hannah's Wild Kingdom and The Beverly Hillbillies if I do say so myself.)

Here I am, getting prepped for surgery. (Don't let the manic expression on my face fool you. My body is having a hard time deciding whether to hyperventilate or vomit or both.)
Here's what the inside of a snake looks like. (It was about ten seconds after this picture was taken that I hit some kind of nerve and the dead thing reflexively curled up...and I high-tailed it off the porch, screaming at the top of my lungs. Because big girl panties aren't completely scare-proof.)
Here's my precious granddad and me nearing the end of the process. THIS manic look is due sheerly to the fact that we're almost done and I haven't died, wet myself or both.
Ta-da! Here's what a snake's skin looks like sans snake:
Pretty impressive, huh? I'm thinking of getting business cards made to read "Rattlesnake Skinner Extraordinaire" or even "G.R.I.T.S. Badass".

So, okay. I have a streak of pure "neck" in me. I can already feel the jokes forming. Let me also say that I accomplished this task with freshly manicured hands, wearing pearl earrings and J. Crew flip-flops.

Because despite the Ole Miss sorority influence, my East Tennessee roots run DEEP.