So It Wasn't My Finest Moment...

I am not a bug person. I have, however, gotten better over the years. Instead of screaming at the top of my lungs and sprinting as fast and as far as I can from whatever insect that is trying to invade my space, I slowly back away and almost kind-sorta hyperventilate while still trying to alert the nearest somebody that there is a bug of some sort that needs to be destroyed. Immediately.

And I've been even better than that lately. As you will recall, the husband loves to keep the front door open. And since we have terrible cell phone service in our home (and no, we do not have a land line, do people still get those these days?), he is confined to our front patio while talking on the phone. And since he is on the patio, the front door must be open. It's a rule he has.

One night he was chatting away on said cell phone in said patio and a huge, behemoth of a moth comes barreling into our home through our said open front door. Perfect. And what does the husband do? When he knows I am terrified of any such creature? He comes in to tell me that a moth just came in the house and closes the front door. He trapped me inside the house, with no other way for me the moth to escape and continued his conversation on the patio. With the door closed.

After a few moments of me backing as far away from the moth as possible, I had a thought. It's just a moth. A stupid moth that just wants to be near the lights. And that's when I grabbed the husband's magazine. I wasn't about to use any possession of mine. Moth guts on my things? No. Thank. You. So I wad up the magazine as best as I can and slowly approach the moth. By this time he has landed on the top of the wall near the ceiling. I drag a chair over to the spot and carefully climb up, making sure to keep an eye on the moth at all times. Afterall, there is no telling what this moth is capable of.

Finally on top of the chair, I ease my way to a fully extended standing position so that I can reach the moth. Scared as I was, I took a swing at the moth with the magazine. And miss. The moth did not appreciate the attempted swing and in defense swoops down and tries to dive bomb me. I, in the mean time, have jumped off the chair and dashed as far away as possible while screaming in terror. I am now being chased by the most malicious moth I have ever encountered and the husband is still on the patio talking. Did I mention the door was closed?

The same scenario happened again in the bathroom. As I finally worked up enough nerve to smash the moth, I only got a portion of him. (I've never been good at baseball, go figures I'm also terrible at swinging a magazine.) So instead, I have a wounded moth chasing after me. And this time I can't find where he went.

The husband got off the phone around the time that I was searching for the partially wounded moth. And did he help me search for it? Of course not. He found it much more entertaining to tell me how he saw my attempts at killing the moth through the front window and how he was laughing and retelling my story to his friend that he was talking to on the phone. He also insisted on reinacting my peril by standing on the chair and then jumping down screaming and waving his hands in the air. I have such an understanding husband.

Eventually he did help me search for the moth. And we didn't find him that night. We finally did find him on our counter top a few days later. Dead. I immediately got out the antibacterial disinfectant and sprayed that spot down. At least I killed him right?