Today I was reminded of a funny story and thought I'd share. When my ex-husband and I were married we lived in a tiny little rental house. Now, he was a paramedic and so I came home most nights alone since he worked graveyard (well, really he worked about 95 percent of the time but that's beside the point). So anyhoo, back to the story.
Most people who have known me a while may notice that I tend to turn on lights in a room before I enter. Yes, this is because I am afraid of the dark. So, I get the door open and the light on inside, then I take a step in the house. It took literally no more than a step for me to realize something was amiss. Hovering above me on the ceiling was a praying mantis.
Now, anyone who knows me at all knows I really do not like bugs of any kind for any reason. So this praying mantis posed quite a problem for me. In order to enter my own house I had to walk under him. Eyeing my enemy, I took a flying leap toward my cordless phone about four feet away from me. I dialed my then husband's pager and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally he answered.
Here's the conversation that followed:
Me - Honey! Come home quick! There's a praying mantis on the ceiling!
Him - And?
Me - You have to come get it!
Him - Now I can leave work and come kill a praying mantis for you.
Me - Well shit! What am I supposed to do?! I can't stay here with a bug crawling around above me!
Him - Get a broom and sweep it down then kill it. Sheesh.
Me - Ok, hold on.
So I grab a broom and sweep. Miss. Scream. Sweep again. Miss. Scream. Sweep again. Miss. Scream. Sweep again. Well, you get it.
Me - Gotta go honey, I can't get this damn bug.
Him - You're an idiot.
Finally after a couple of more sweeps and misses I managed to flick the mother of all praying mantises down to my kitchen floor. Oh shit! I had not thought about him crawling toward me! So, while he was still in shock from being flung through the air I threw a piece of stray notebook paper on top of him. See, I had a plan. On the bookshelf right next to me was the set of encyclopedias I'd had since I was ten. I picked up a couple of them, probably volumns N and O. Then I realized I wanted to make sure I finished to job and grabbed G and H for good measure. Then I stood back, perfected my aim, and dropped the books on the notebook paper. Unphased by the minor earthquake I'd created, I stepped over the book pile and fixed my Ramen noodles (code for dinner when you are young).
The next morning I was awakened by a conversation that went something like this:
Him - Candice, why is there a stack of encyclopedias on the kitchen floor?
Me - I killed the bug.
Him - Awww shit.
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