While I’m not necessarily a women’s libber nor am I a bra-burner, I do consider myself to be very independent and outspoken. Except when it comes to icky things.
It’s not that I don’t do icky things. It’s just that I am married to a man who will do icky things for me, so why should I do these things, right? RIGHT!?
For instance: If there’s a mouse (or in light of recent events, MICE) in a mouse trap and I know The Dad is around (or will be around in within a few days), why should I empty the trap myself? If The Dad enjoys doing it – and I know he enjoys it because it’s what I tell myself – why should I deprive him of that pleasure?
The truth is that if I were the sole adult in the house and something icky needed to be done, I’d do it. Or I’d pay someone to do it. But that’s beside the point. The point is that I don’t generally do the icky things around the house…like empty mouse traps or kill spiders. I don’t like to do them and as long as The Dad’s around, I don’t have to do them!
And then there was this morning. Because The Dad works out of town, he leaves at a quarter ‘til Humanly Decent. Within 10 minutes of his leaving, my alarm goes off and I cradle it as I hit snooze approximately 14 times. After the 14th time, I grab my old glasses and make my way to the bathroom when I begrudgingly get ready for the day. This morning, the routine was no different.
Only, when I stepped out of the bathroom and into the vanity area, I saw something icky: A spider. No, let me say that differently: A HUGE SPIDER.
This was not something I wanted to leave until The Dad got home – because I was sure that sucker could move and then scare me again – probably when I was getting into bed later on or something equally disturbing like that! It’s legs were probably 3 – 4 inches long!! And it was the size of a quarter… at least! I pushed my glasses up on my nose and wandered into the utility room to get the fly swatter. Why, oh WHY, did this have to happen so early in the morning and why, oh WHY, did this stupid spider decide to come out NOW? And not 14 snoozes ago when the Ick-master was still in the house??
I staggered back to the bathroom and decided to just bite the bullet and whack the spider… Just whack him. So I whacked that sucker. He bounced. I screamed. Then I whacked a dozen times more. Each time, he jumped higher and higher. My screams got louder and louder.
This crazy spider was bionic, I’m tellin’ ya! This was going to require reinforcements. I pulled on some wool socks and stepped into The Dad’s work boots and stomped my way back to the bouncing spider.
I pushed up my glasses and squealed as I stomped the living snot out of the ick all the while, cursing The Dad for not being there when I needed to evoke the Ick Rule, which states – in no uncertain terms – that The Dad shall and will take care of all icky things in the house at my command.
Truthfully, though, as I was stomping and squishing and squealing and pushing my glasses back up on my nose, I felt empowered. I could handle the ick if I had to! I could take care of my family and keep them safe from spiders (at least) regardless of the time of day or the size of the spider or the bounce in said-spider’s step. As long as I had work boots that were at least 8 sizes too big for me, I could take care of any ick that happened my way.
And I stepped back away from the spider, expecting to see nothing but a oily bog on my throw rug. But that sucker was still in one piece!! I commenced the stomping and squealing again. I was mid- full-blown scream when Daughter 2 snuck up behind me.
Protectively I threw my arm in front of her (much in the way parents of the 70’s did to keep their standing-in-the-front-seat children from flying through the windshield) and told her to stay back. This was icky and I didn’t want her scarred for life, much less poisoned by the amazing purple, bouncing spider. She was not to be deterred. She had an amazing kindergarten teacher who explored the great outdoors and had let her students live and breathe science. She has a super-star first grade teacher who has a salamander as a class pet and lets the students capture insects and witness the salamander’s digestion of its meal.
She wanted to see the spider. And I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to keep her in the dark.
I pushed her back and raised my foot slightly.
Then, Daughter 2 – with her perfect 20/20 vision – crouched down and said, “Momma! You found my Halloween ring!”
As I slipped off the work boots and wool socks and tucked the swatter back into the cabinet, I realized two things: 1. I needed new glasses and 2. The Dad really is much better at the icky stuff!
