I’m a Bitch
A few weeks back, my wife and I were near casualties of a household nightmare…at least that’s how it felt at the time. My wife, Caroline, and I get off work each day around 5:30 or so and begin our second career, raising a toddler. Our daughter, stubborn beyond belief, begins the bedtime routine around 8:30. Somewhere between 9:30 and 10:00 we can officially clock out. By then, we are winding down and catching up on HBO or Showtime on-demand programs that we can in no way catch when originally run.
We have two small dogs that love to sleep in the bed with us. One has the ability to leap onto our bed and snuggle right in with no assistance. The other, weighing in at five pounds soaking wet, just barks until one of us, in mid-sleep, reaches down to scoop him into bed. I’m not sure when this officially began, but our smaller dog has been either left outside through the night, or locked in various rooms as we drifted off to sleep unaware of his existence. This happens at least two or three times a month.
That night, he wasn’t in the room as our eyes began to close for the evening. Caroline noticed and made the trek downstairs to find him. I’m half asleep and hear my wife calling out his name as she opens and closes doors throughout the house. All of a sudden, I hear a scream. My immediate though was, “It’s time to kill another spider.” Shaking my head, I extracted myself from a very comfortable position and met her at the top of the stairs. What she said next changed everything.
On her journey to locate our dog she opened the basement door, turned on the light, and a bat did a Top Gun F-16 fly-by across her face. Bat? The word took me from Spiderman to Mary Jane in an instant. At best, I was the female Wonder Twin from the Super Friends. She could turn into an animal, right? Or was it water? Either way, I was pretty sure I was useless – a terrified animal isn’t much better than a terrified cup of water in a crisis. Bat? I stood there frozen, not meeting my wife’s eyes, barely able to utter “really.” She rolled her eyes and said she couldn’t find the dog either.
We mutually decided to attack this problem as a duo. We crept down the stairs, I leading the way, as she lead the way, unaware as to what we would encounter. We peaked around the corner from the bottom of the stairs, peering into the kitchen as we clutched and grasped at each other. With eyes wide open, unable to blink, we both saw the bat fly from the kitchen to the dining room. We feverishly ran upstairs to collaborate on a game plan. We decided I needed a broom. I asked if we possessed any armor or, at the very least, catchers gear….we had neither.
Myriad thoughts shuffled through my head as this disgusting creature fluttered from room to room:
- Do bats have venom?
- If I slap it down with the broom, what exactly am I supposed to do then?
- Do bats have teeth that spew venom?
- I would be useless in any other era of time, or if we lived in Florida.
- Bats definitely have venom and if it bit me, how long would I have before needing medical attention…..would I die?
- My value as a husband is deteriorating at light speed.
- I hate snakes more than anything, but bats are making an impressive debut on my top 5 chart of most hated animals.
- Are you fucking kidding me? I have to deal with a goddamn venomous bat flying around my house tonight!!!
- Did I just scream?
- The percentage of having sex tonight with my wife must be less than 1%.
With broom in hand and anxiety flowing through my body, Caroline and I managed to open the doors to both the front and back of our home. We finally found Manny, our smaller dog, calmly nestled into the living room couch, a perplexed look upon his face. I am sure he thought to himself, “What the fuck is wrong with those two, and what do they plan to do with that broom…..morons.” The bat decided he’d had enough fun tormenting us, and flew out the back door.
As relief settled in, my wife looked at me in disgust and told me this story would be altered for my daughter. She said the version for our daughter would shed a positive light on her father. I sheepishly said, “thanks…” and went to bed. Definitely no sex.
The next morning before I awoke, my wife explained to our three year old how daddy saved the family from the mammoth-sized bat that unleashed terror throughout our home. Before she ventured off to school, my daughter kissed me goodbye and praised me for my undaunted courage. I just smiled at my wife feeling pretty damn good about myself.