This morning, I was minding my own business, pacing while waiting for my husband to leave because that's how my mornings are. Not that I'm in any hurry to get him out of here, mind you, but as the morning routine winds down after making the coffee and greeting the sweet guy who is squinting in the morning light as he trudges, unsteadily, to the coffee pot like an android returning to its leader; and, after I make his lunch and stay out of his way while he tries to get his morning legs going, I pace for the final part of our morning - the kiss goodbye.
This morning, I was standing in the hallway, while he foraged in the bedroom, looking for his glasses, when he came out, looked me square in the eye, paused and said, "You don't want to go in there. There's a huge bug." Reacting as any woman might do (?), I scream and start backing up, eyes wide, going into a panic. At the sight of this, he falls onto the floor, LAUGHING. I say, "Oh dear God. Are you joking? Don't play me like that. Don't!" He replied that no, he's not joking and that yes, there is a huge bug in our bedroom.
So, naturally, I scream again and start to hyperventilate and say, "What the hell are you doing on the floor? Get it OUT of here before it gets away!"
"Do you want to see it?" (He says between gasps of laughter). I make another attempt to breathe and scream, "NO, I do NOT want to see it." My legs are weak and I stagger to the arm of the couch and crumple down, putting my head on the arm, as he shrieks in laughter STILL. But I know that my husband would not say that this was a huge bug if it were not because he is an outdoors kind of guy and this thing would have to be the size of a bird for him to say it is huge.
As I lay on the floor, trying to revive, he returns to the bedroom and I hear him open the screen. "Uh oh, it's on the run," he remarks. Again, I scream. "Close the door," I yell. "CLOSE THE DOOR!" (He does not).
After a minute, I hear nothing. And my neurotic mind is conjuring up an image of this thing actually being a rabid bat and maybe it's bitten him and he's fainted and I have no idea what's going on in there except I know that I can only crawl at this point and I wonder if I should go check on him. "Dear?" "Yes." "Are you all right?" "Yes, but you should really see this thing. It's a big moth." "Maybe it's a bat," I reply. "It's as big as a bat." I let out another small anguished cry. "Get a towel," I say. "Throw it over him."
Finally, I hear the screen closing and pull myself to my feet. He emerges from the room, triumphant. "You got it?" He nods. I plant a huge, powerful kiss (or all I can muster of power at this point) onto his lips. "Thank you."
Which reminds me of years ago...
We were living in a small basement apartment while my husband was working full-time and going to school full-time. I was working full-time and taking care of a baby. One evening, after giving Christopher a bath, I wrapped him in his little hood towel and carried him out of the bathroom, into the hallway when I thought I saw the carpet move. Wait. It wasn't the carpet moving. It was a big MOTHER of a spider, light brown in color, like the carpet, with LOTS of hair and .... and ... and... JOINTS. Yes JOINTS. Oh dear God. Why in the world create such things?
My heart raced fearfully and I knew I had to protect my child. I carefully set him in his crib, all the while watching that bold thing standing on the carpet as if to say to me, "I dare you." I removed the towel from my son's little body and grabbed a tin cup that my father-in-law had gotten for him while he was in Cape Cod. I threw the towel over this tarantula and started pounding with all my might. Suddenly, the monster raced out from under the towel and was on the go. I didn't scream because I didn't want to scare my son. I quickly grabbed the towel and threw it over the large animal again and pounded as hard and as viciously as I could, gritting my teeth the entire time.
Breathless and sweaty, I waited. Nothing. I watched for movement under the towel. Nothing. Slowly...very slowly, I lifted the towel. That thing was mashed into the rug so far, it quite possibly could become a permanent part of the carpet. I placed the towel back over its lifeless body and gave it a few more pounds - just in case. Then I called my husband who was at work. I was frantic.
"You are NEVER going to believe what just happened." I relayed the entire story. He listened calmly. "Where do such things come from and why are they in OUR apartment," I cried. "Do you think he has any brothers?"
"Well, yes. He probably has brothers but we live in a college town so I am sure they are away at school."
"OK." I say, trying to take comfort in something that made no sense whatsoever but I had to get back to my son. I left the body there for my husband to clean up.
There were no more incidents of such things in our apartment (at least none that I saw) but we did see another one or two in the storage room across the hall and I refused to go into the storage area after that.
Meanwhile, this morning, after the Attack of the Killer Moth, I resumed my pacing and my husband, still looking for his glasses, grabbed me by the shoulders and planted a firm kiss on my mouth. "There," he said. "Now you can go relax while I try to get out the door."
"I love you," I say sweetly.
"I love you too," he replies with a quiet close of the door.
We all have our little quirks, don't we? What are your biggest stupid fears?
Copyright 2011 Liam's Grandma
