vituperation

September 26, 2003

You know what’s more annoying than being stuck in traffic behind a loaded school bus going fifteen miles per hour below the posted limit on a major highway?

Finally getting to pass the bus, only to find that IT was stuck behind a woman in a Mustang convertible, puttering along obliviously while she yakked away on her cell phone.

Last night, Robyn and I were sitting in the den watching the first few minutes of the Emmy-winning “Door to Door,” written by and starring William H. Macy. Earlier, we’d been watching “A Mighty Wind,” the latest from Christopher Guest, but we’d stopped it because, frankly, the only mighty wind we found was the one created by the suck of that movie. Pity, because we generally really like the Guest mockumentaries.

I reached over to the end table and picked up the DVD remote, intent on checking to see how long “Door to Door” would be. Survivor was coming on soon, you know, and we love the Survivor. Robyn looked up to see what I was doing, and something below, out of my sight, caught her attention. She looked down at the floor, wrinkled her brow in both concern and disgust, and said “Ew!” Her single sound conveyed an entire sentence to me, and that sentence was, “Oh my fucking God, that’s the biggest spider I’ve ever seen, and it’s climbing up your leg!” Without a second thought, I did what any normal, red-blooded heterosexual American man would do.

I shrieked like a little girl and launched myself off the couch, dancing across the room while madly beating at my legs with flailing hands. The DVD remote landed near the kitchen.

My wife found this scene entirely too amusing.

“WHAT IS IT?” I cried, my eyes jittering all around to find the brobdingnagian tarantula that had obviously — after all, I couldn’t see it on me anywhere — fallen off my leg. While Robyn tried to catch her breath, I silently wished the plate-sized spider had landed on her cackling ass.

“I…I think…I think it was a roach,” she finally managed. “A little one.”

Oh.

“WELL, WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST SAY THAT?” The adrenaline was having its way with me, and I’m sure I cut quite the image, standing there all bug-eyed in my faded orange t-shirt and plaid sleep pants.

“You didn’t give me a chance!” she said, and began to laugh again.

“Get me a paper towel and I’ll kill it,” I said, resuming my manly manliness. I walked across the den while Robyn got a paper towel from the kitchen. Kneeling, I gingerly — just because she thought it was a roach didn’t mean it couldn’t be a black widow — lifted the couch skirt with my thumb and forefinger, ready to drop it in an instant and scuttle back to the fireplace should there be a giant spider waiting for me.

There was no spider waiting under the couch.

About eighteen inches back, nestled among the dustbunnies and pieces of popcorn, was a little black bug, perhaps three-quarters of an inch long. Like a roach, yes, but definitely not a roach. It was one of those generic outside beetles that sometimes trundle their way into the house.

“Do you see it?” Robyn asked, handing me a paper towel.

“Yeah, I do. He’s pretty small.”

Robyn retreated back to the breakfast area, where she watched me over the back of her couch. After all, we all know who the real wuss is, don’t we?

I folded the paper towel and stuck my hand under the couch, intent on destroying the little roach-looking beetle. As I pressed the paper towel over the bug, my mind played a little movie of my own making. You know what I’m talking about, so don’t try to deny it. Anyone who’s ever reached into an awkward place to kill a bug knows exactly what I’m talking about.

What was I expecting the bug to do, bite off my finger? Of course not.

Because everyone knows that a harmless bug, once covered by a paper towel, can instantly transform into a big hairy spider, waiting to skitter its eight hairy legs on your hand before coccooning and eating you.

So I screeched again, like a little girl, and jerked my hand out from under the couch. I know. It’s embarrassing, really.

However, my WIFE also screamed, from her safe spot across the room and behind the couch, because she is a wuss.

Fortunately, my testosterone drive re-engaged, and I quickly made short work of the bug. It took every effort of my will not to toss the paper towel at my wife as I passed her on the way to the garbage can.