Friday, May 20, 2011

The Centipede

I spoke too soon about the uneventful week.  Today Jessica went to take the dogs outside and there it was. The illusive caribbean centipede.  The one we've been dreading and fearing and mounting a defense against.

Apparently these suckers are smart.  They're clever and smart and carnivorous.  They eat meat.  The bigger ones climb up into caves, dangle themselves from the ceiling, and sype a bat as it flies by.  A bat.  A bug eats a bat!  What the hell kind of mutant insects live down here!?

So Jessica shoves the dogs back in the bedroom, awaking me from my peaceful slumber..."Do you need help?" I ask... "Only if you want to witness the massacre that's about to happen on the front porch!"  Whaaaaa????

I find some shoes and come to the front porch to find my lovely wife squatted on the floor, inside, aiming a can of illegal-in-the-US wasp spray at the writhing centipede.  He's putting up quite the fight.  Another douse of wasp spray, and another, and another.  He finally stops moving.  





With her large-animal-studies-in-the-fields knee high rain boots on, she starts to stomp on the perp.  Wait - what if the dogs decide they want to investigate the cremains of this poisonous beast, covered in wasp killer??!  Good thinking, let's take it out to the street and stomp it there!


We do this "funny" thing to scare each other when we're looking at something intently...while crouched over, staring at whatever it is where staring at (be it food, bugs, words, whatever) the other one sneaks up behind the one deep in thought, pinches them, and snorts.  The one who is focused, usually me, jumps out of their skin and proceeds to chase the other down the hall, or street, until they're adequately satisfied that retaliation is theirs.  

I had to fight the urge to do this to Jessica right in this moment.  I was afraid for my life and for retaliation of centipede flinging towards my face.  So, I resisted.  During her inspection of the beast, she begins to describe the pincers growing out of his mouth...



Hiiiiii-YAH!



Whew.  We survived our first centipede attack.  Thank you wasp killer, 
big rubber boots, and a fearless wife. 

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