Squishy

Here is a random childhood memory for y'all:

When I was a kid, a family in our church owned a cabin up on the Grand Mesa. They would let our family use the cabin for summer trips. The cabin had no indoor plumbing and there was an outhouse up in the woods. I remember walking up the path to the outhouse in the mornings. The cool, damp smell of the forest, bird songs and chipmunks rustling in the grass, and the squish of snails under my feet. Yes, the squish of snails under my feet. If we forgot to watch our step, we were pretty much guaranteed to step on a snail or two. I suppose it wasn't any worse than the giant banana slugs we had in California. Eew!