I feel as slow as a snail this morning after getting out of bed. I wear a shell to protect myself from danger but mostly from stress and criticism. But I wear no tentacles, and I’m losing my eyesight, although my nose drips mucus. I don’t hang around in gardens or forests too often either, but I couldn’t move any slower today.

When my parents used to live in the old house where I grew up, I would step on snails. They would crunch under my shoes, and I would feel bad for them. Those snails had a long twenty-five years ahead, but not anymore. My mother didn’t mind because they were feasting on the plants in her garden. I could see their secretions across the walkway when I would venture toward the driveway.

I read about snails and found that they’re hermaphrodites who trade sperm with each other. I’ve never seen a snail’s egg before. What do they look like? What kind of birds, mammals, and insects feast on them? I know that humans eat them, but I’ve never been to France, so I’ve never eaten escargot.

Sometimes I want to hibernate when it’s too cold or estivate when it’s too hot. I’m fascinated by the nautilus designs on their shells. They’re attractive animals to me. I want to own a snail and feed its herbivorous appetite. It would live in a small tank with plants all around it. I would call him Sam.

Where I live now, I don’t see any snails. I guess the plants aren’t made for them. What a shame. Maybe the next time I see one, which could be never again, I’ll capture it with a napkin and take it home. I’ll stick it in a jar and feed it lettuce.

But anyway, that’s all I have to say about snails.