Bug Off!

Three nights ago something crawled into my bed that did not belong there. It was invisible and had fangs. Well, it felt like fangs, but because they were invisible teeth, I couldn’t be sure.

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Half a dozen times I flipped back the covers, flicked on the lights and scoured the bed.

The cat gazed at me like a therapist stares at his patient—the kind of assessment that lets you know they’re actually going through the latest chapters of The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders in their head to see where you fit in.

The dog raised his head and blinked at me, continually wondering if it was time for breakfast.

“Something is biting me,” I explained to them both, “and since neither one of you are within teeth reach, it must be beneath the duvet.”

I looked at my skin: my stomach, my legs, my arms—nothing. I must have been dreaming. I squinted hard at the mattress and the sheets. Empty.

Just to be on the safe side, I rootled around in one of the bathroom cupboards and came up with some mosquito repellant. This would be like camping, I told myself.

Now smelling like I’d accidentally fallen into a vat of DEET, I crawled back into bed and flipped the light switch. But with each passing hour, my eyes flew open immediately after I felt a pinprick of pain. I leapt up and repeated the same tiresome routine until exhausted from trying to get some sleep, I gave up and got up.

It wasn’t until that afternoon that I noticed I was beginning to itch—absentmindedly at first. And then, because I was in a meeting with other people who were over the age of four and would notice one of us lifting up her shirt to scratch uncontrollably at an itch that refused to be satisfied, I had to be surreptitious. Except that it’s hard to be sly when you are desperate to rip off your clothes and tear off your skin. That takes stealth. Or a room full of blind people.

It was not a good night. After showering, I noticed that it looked like my entire torso had sprouted polka dots. I looked like an early Jackson Pollock painting—like really early—probably the time period when he was still in a highchair and figured out how to whip cranberry sauce from his spoon to splatter onto the kitchen wall—that early. Nothing artistic about it. And I highly doubt any of his artwork requested he give it a good solid scratch in a hard to reach place.

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I covered myself in outdated hydrocortisone cream and crawled wearily into bed after first checking to make sure that the clean sheets hadn’t somehow become infested with last night’s fang festival fellows. I saw nothing.

But I felt creepy crawly.

It was as if something was under my skin.

I slept with the covers off. Okay, I lied. The covers were off, but there was no sleeping. Just noticing of the constant urge to itch.

Chicken pox? Nope – I felt fine.

Poison ivy? Nuh uh – the spots were too spaced out, and not in the right places.

Fleas? Bed bugs? Chiggers? Small as those fellas are, you can still see them, and I found NOTHING.

We were back to invisible fangs.

The next day I worked, sat, walked, talked and drove about, but all I thought about was how badly I wanted to scratch. And the problem with scratching in one place is that it stirs up the histamine response to activate all the other parts of your body that up until then were somewhat silent, and encouraged them to scream, “ME TOO, ME TOO!”

Since we don’t live close to town, and I’m stubbornly stoic, I was thrilled to hear my daughter was heading out to pick up a few things and would I like her to stop at the pharmacy? Would I? Oh boy, I would.

I sent her in with a list of everything known to man and medicine that might alleviate the desire to make a crosshatch of scars over my body. She came back with soaps, and creams, ointments and oils—even the words to a magic mantra one has to chant that she purchased from the local health food store. She had come at just the right time. These bites were rising to a fevered pitch of a frenzy.

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Every hour I showered, dried off and tried something that came out of the magic pharmacy bag. Relief was subtle, but even subtle was a miracle. Looking in the mirror, I reminded myself of a Dr. Seuss character, but I’m fairly certain that I’d frighten even pint-sized fans of The Cat in the Hat if I showed up at a public beach. Swim suit season was over for me. Well, truth be told, I never held a parade for the opening day either, so it was no real loss.

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This, the third day of purgatory, has me looking back over the last seventy-two hours and attempting to tally up the total amount of water used in boiling all sheets, clothing and any furniture I could stuff into the washing machine. Then I computed the amount of money I handed over to the pharmacist for each promised cure. And lastly, I added up how much it’s going to cost for a full torso skin graft. I’m working out a deal with a plastic surgeon tomorrow. I may have to sell a few things. Like any extra internal organs not pulling their weight.

Yeah, I know, call me crazy.

But it’s okay, the cat already does.

~Shelley

August Gotta Have a Gott 

In January, Rob and I announced that his sketches will be available toward the end of the year in the form of a 2015 calendar! And our readers would get to be the judges and voters for which doodles they’d like to see selected for each month. We’ll reveal the winners one by one, and come November, If you’ve Gotta have a GOTT, you can place your order. See the cartoons in competition and to cast your vote.

Don’t forget to check out what we’re cookin’ in the Scullery and what we all talked about down in the pub. Plus, you can see more of Robin Gott‘s humor–all from the only pen carved from a human funny bone.

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96 thoughts on “Bug Off!

  1. Welcome back Missy. I sorta’ figured your first post after your brief hiatus would be something profound. A tome of insightful and soulful significance. Imagine my delightful surprise when you wrote about invisible and carnivorous critters. Well as it turns out I just happen to be somewhat of an expert on things unseen or non existent. Have you seen the old Vincent Price movie Tingler? Essentially this was about unseen things, the size of a toy poodle that skulked around and devoured human brains. Well obviously you have been invaded by a micro mutated Tingler. The big ones were susceptible to high pitched noise which turned them into dead hunks of invisible jello. Since yours are micro mutants normal noise won’t work. All you need to do is bathe your house in white noise and before you can even say ouch your house is cleared. That is the only logical conclusion. Of course…it could be you that just waited too long for that shower.

    • It is so good to read your inventive brainstorming, Benson. Why didn’t I think of a micro mutated Tingler?? *face palm*
      And I’m guessing that yes, likely it had something to do with the fact that I let things get slightly out of hand in the shoddy schedule of daily ablutions. I had it coming.
      Regardless, it’s good to be back, and itch free. It’ll give me some time to come up with something insightful and soulfully significant for next week. Or maybe just something that rhymes. We’ll see.
      Cheers!

  2. Welcome back, Shelley. 🙂 Please tell me you’re not still going through this torture…aaah! I love your cat vs. dog observations, and Rob has outdone himself this week with the Pollock pic. I hope the fangs leave you soon (as mysteriously as they arrived?)…

    • They did indeed. That is, leave as sneakily and clandestinely as they came. I’m filled with relief, but still suspicious of my bed.
      It is good to be back, Sue. And lovely as ever to see your words. 🙂

  3. My deepest sympathies. I HATE when that happens.

    When I get bitten – or just come into contact with pollen doing yardwork, I break out into huge welts. The itching is unbearable. This spring I accidentally tripped over a blog post about camping and the CRITICAL things required on a camping trip. Witch hazel was on that list for itching and bug bites. I figured I had nothing to lose so I bought a bottle for emergency purposes – ie summer..
    MAGIC! It really does work! … and the bites don’t blow up into huge welts anymore either.

    …. just a suggestion in case there is a next time … for there is always a next time 🙂

    • I totally agree, Joanne. Witch hazel is an otherworldly substance, and I usually keep a small vile of it strapped to my thigh–right beside the hip flask of whisky for other emergencies. One must be prepared.
      And I’m always finding “emergencies” in which the hip flask must be employed, and of course then refilled. 😛

  4. Oh my, I really feel for you. I’ve had that happen too. Usually I find the critter by the second night, and usually it is a small earwig. They hurt like crazy when they sting you in your sleep, and maybe when you are awake, but I’ve never had one bite me except occasionally when they erroneously end up in our bed. I sure hope you have figured it out… and DO update us so we can, in turn, update our lists of things to be avoided!

    • I’m still sticking with mid-sized invisible insect with fangs. Although I’m not entirely sure what an earwig looks like. Do they have teeth? Do they prefer only flesh from the torso and not feet or hands? A mystery. But I’ve recounted my data to the CDC and expect to hear back from a few interested scientists within due course. I shall report back, Ardys. For the ongoing good health of the blogging world 🙂

    • “earwigs” now I have not heard that term for that charming species since I left Fremont CA, back in the days. And I mean BACK. Back before Neil did his ‘one small step for (a) man’ bit.

    • I AM feeling much better, Jen, thank you. And word of warning–lights or no lights, these guys were either microscopic or supernatural. I’m kinda leaning toward the paranormal. It makes for a much better story.

    • Yes, Lori, I knew I’d have to make an apology at some point for simply evoking the power of suggestion to folks who’d read this story. The mind can be cruel that way.
      I am cured though. Well, let me rephrase. The bug bites are no longer a bother. Remedies for other ailments may remain elusive until science can make further strides in myriad departments. o_O

  5. First, I just want to say welcome back, Shelley! Second, I must admit that I’m now itching after reading this post. I hope you have found some relief from the horrible itching you’ve endured. I’m no doctor, but as I was reading over your symptoms, I thought to myself, “She’s been under a lot of stress lately. Could this be hives?” That’s really what it sounds like, especially since they’re just on your stomach. Have you tried taking Benadryl? There’s even a Benadryl spray that helps stop itching from bug bites and such. One last question: have you recently changed laundry detergents? It’s amazing the number of things our skin reacts to. I found out about a year after I got my tattoos that I have an allergy to the ink. Apparently, this isn’t uncommon, and since the tats are going to be on me for the rest of my life, there’s not a lot I can do about it. But it’s a misery to be out on a hot day and feel one of the tats start itching, and then find that the inked skin is so puffy, I can feel the shape of the tattoo with my fingertips. Hopefully you’re feeling much better by now, but if not, I think a trip to the doctor is in order, my friend. In the meantime, you can also try a baking soda bath. And look on the bright side–at least it’s not bedbugs! 😛

    • You’ve got tats?? Miranda, you totally rock. And I think it’s unusually fabulous that yours are nearly Braille.
      Okay, your hipness factor aside, it’s great to be back. And sorry about arousing the whole power of suggestion phenomena. That’s the awful byproduct of reading this piece.
      Thankfully, the bites are history. (Editorial calendars being an absolute necessity when running a blog with more than one person.) I’m recovered–a little unsightly because of the scars, but hey, they’re a conversation starter, right?
      Just like your inking. What did you have done? I’m so curious!

      • I’m glad you’re back to 100%, Shelley! Having such severe itching must have been a horrible experience.

        I have six tats. I’ve occasionally been tempted to get one more, but my skin really doesn’t like the ink. I had to get every single tattoo touched up, and that hurt far worse than the original inking. I have an ankh, a rabbit, a Green Man, a yin-yang draped with morning glories, a Zuni bear, and Kokopelli. When I first got them, a friend of mine said, “You’re going to regret it.” I said, “Not unless I become a fundamentalist Christian, because I’m covered in pagan symbols.” 😉

        • Well, the connections between us continually increase, Miranda. These are some of my favorite symbols–and although I don’t have them inked onto my skin–I do have them as everyday reminders, and surround myself with their meanings and messages. My oldest and most cherished t-shirt has an ankh displayed on the front. I have an entire ceiling that is square copper tiles of the Green Man (and it’s also a pivotal element in one of my MG stories), my perpetually filled tea cup at my elbow has two Kokopelli on either side, and the coaster it rests on is a yin-yang piece of ceramic stone! I love it.
          And I totally think you cannot get any more frickin’ hip, Sister.

  6. Misery! I’ve had “the attack of the non-specified itch” myself, with very little helping the cause. When I did see the dermatologist she said eczema and gave me an ointment that didn’t work. It eventually subsided. My fair skin seems to be a magnet for irritation.

    You’ve had great suggestions, above. I hope you get to the bottom of things soon.

    • Alys, I think you nailed it on the head. The cure? Time. But I threw as many magic potions at it as I could conjure up to see what might alleviate the curse of the itch. I bow down to chemists–so many of their concoctions brought immediate, even though only temporary, relief. And I tip my hat at the folks at the health food store for their magic mantras. Collectively, the universe came to my aid and I am grateful for it.
      And being the queen gardener that you are, I bet you get way more than your fair share of small fanged attacks. Poor thing.

      • Time. It moves slowly when your in line at the DMV or waiting for the bleepity-bleep itch to go away, doesn’t it? Or when you’re late for an appointment and it takes ‘an hour’ for the light to turn green.

        Altered time is also perplexing, for instance didn’t I just go to the dentist? It can’t possible be time for my semi-annual teeth cleaning trauma???

        I encounter lots of interesting insects and bugs, nose to nose in my garden. Some I don’t discover till I’ve developed a photo. Oh! Will you look at that spider sitting there watching me. One time I knew we had a sizable wolf spider living above the flower bed and forgot anyway. I even reminded myself before bending down “remember the spider overhead.” Did I remember? Yes. Once I stood up, and felt the web press down on my hair and then I screamed like the sky was falling. Good times!

        • Born to Organize,

          I used to have similar experiences when I was a tween, trying to grow up in Winnsboro TX. My grandfather had a decent stock pond, the banks of which were lined with old willow trees. Of course any and every young Texan knows that fish congregate beneath those willow branches which overhang the water.

          Problem is, is that water moccasins (aka Cotton Mouths) love to ‘hang out’ in those branches, most likely for the fishing opportunities too.

          Many a time have I fished under such trees, always keeping a watchful eye on the branches, lest some cotton mouth decide he wanted to see how it was to fish from a jon boat… alone. (Yeah, I have been known to abandon ship faced with such circumstances–and I wasn’t even a sailor back then, let alone a captain and certainly now I would be forced to go down with the ship, er skiff…
          NOT!

    • At this point, Diana, I’m going to go with one of two things: 1) I was unfortunate enough to unwittingly discover proof of spectral insects, or 2) karmic payback for a previous life’s blunder. Either way, it’s conversationally compelling.

  7. Great post! The descriptions are fantastic and the cat-dog looks are spot on (I have two cats and a dog and I can attest that this is exactly how the behave). I hope you find the little creature that caused so much havoc in your life. And I’m sure you won’t need cosmetic surgery. 🙂

    • Thank you for the tips on those bits that might not be missed, Cheergerm. I’m thinking I might be able to throw in a kidney and half a liver if need be.
      And sorry about the phantom itches I’ve transferred over. Bad byproduct of the post. Oops. 🙄

      • I can throw in a quarter of a liver…. No wait!
        Belay that!
        How about half a brain? Nope. Cannot spare that either.
        Ok… how ’bout ummmm….
        Oh yeah!
        Tonsils. Still got them suckers.

  8. You have my sympathy, nothing is worse than the ‘itch’ and waiting for that next bite. Last time it happened with me it turned out it was a minor detergent change by which time I’d changed the bed twice and created more laundry to torment myself with. I hope you’re much better now.
    xxx Huge Hugs xxx

    • I am much, much better now, thank you, David. Most everything was boiled–including my skin. I’m having to slightly adjust my clothing color choices now, as PINK is my new skin tone. I look freshly scrubbed. A bit pebbled dashed, but beauty is on the inside, right?
      Huge hugs to you too, David! ❤

  9. Been there, done it, wrote about it too, bed bugs/mites, little buggers or was it something more nasty though like scabies?????
    We ditched bed linens and dusted the mattress with ant powder. Seemed to do the trick. Missed you last week.

    • So nice to be back–and itch free. As I live in an area that could easily showcase a National Geographic special every day, the result of this home choice is that I must realize most every square inch of it belongs to things wild, uncultivated and at times, savage. But I love it. And will live with it.
      Thank you for the comforting thought that someone recognized my absence. Those kinds of words make you feel ten feet tall. 🙂

  10. That sounds horrendous – bad enough being itchy all over but to be woken constantly by it and not find the culprit must have been so frustrating. Could it be a delayed reaction to science project stress? If so then surely your daughter should be mopping your brow and pouring tea or whiskey as required?

    Rob’s cartoons this week were just so spot on. The Jackson Pollock one brought back memories of when our boys were 4 and 2 and a half. Rowan’s boss was due to come for dinner so the whole house had been spruced up. The boys were eating in the dining room while I put the finishing touches to dinner in the kitchen next door, Rowan and boss expected imminently. It went suspiciously quiet and then there was giggling. They’d been sat at opposite ends of the table to avoid arguments turning physical but that meant that there was further for the yoghurt to splatter when they decided to throw it at each other. And then they threw it at the walls, the carpet…..

    • UGH!! Oh, Laura, what timing. And what a memory. You poor woman. o_O
      And I absolutely adore Rob’s sketches this week. I’d like posters of all of them. His mind is amazing and his creativity should be bottled and sold as an elixir for artists and humorists.
      I love the idea of my daughter being at my beck and call–alas, she is many hundreds of miles away, and wholly focused on what devilment she can conjure up next (all in the name of science and exploration, of course). I shall muddle through on my own, but at least I shall be muddling and not itching. I much prefer that scenario. 🙂

  11. Ee-uww! I hate little bitey things. I’ve been bitten to bits by mozzies this year, some of them have even managed to crawl inside my clothes and bite places that never see the light of day. I reckon these bugs are increasing in intelligence.
    I’ve often wondered why scratching one bite activates all the others – now I know. Thanks!

  12. Oh, my! This is terrible (the itching not the post, of course!) I so hope you figure it out soon. This could be another saga coming on……I want to get to the next installment a.s.a.p. (and I’m sure you do too if it means you’ll have found the cure or at least the cause!) I can’t imagine what’s going on!

    • A mystery of nature and the supernatural I’ve decided. Some mindbogglers must remain an enigma. At least it can build a bridge of conversation between dermatologists and entomologists, right? I’m furthering science and medicine. Always a bonus. Throw in the enlightened opinions of a shaman and we’ve got ourselves a trifecta of intriguing hypothesis. 😛

  13. My dearest Shelley,

    Chronic spontaneous urticaria… sound familiar? For the love of Zeus and all things bizarre and holy, or not… hives, eh? Perhaps stress, a reaction to your consumption of a natural DeTox tea? (I am NOT suggesting anything mind you but I have purged your pantry many times and the things you have in there are as close to natural as what your former sheep Titt’s and Piddle would have consumed). I digress.

    Perhaps it’s the animal conspiracy theory, or, has one of your mignonne’s gone awry? Maybe you should look into the last time one of your chiltlens requested money and you gave them an alternative to cash. Not the Cleo or her brudda would compromise your personal space but you do know that having a child deeply rooted in MIT can create all sorts of Harry Potter stuff?

    Regardless, I hope the best for you and your new hobby. If anything, medicine sometimes helps, triable rituals and dances around the ring of fire with a little Jonny Cash playing in the background often help yet, sometimes it’s just a matter of pouring yourself a short glass of Macalla’s 64 year old Scotch. That, and a good grilled cheese sandwich… or some peat smoked lamb short ribs. When you do that, I’m right there with you. Consider me a culinary bed nurse. 🙂

    Much love and respect Shelley,

    Stoshu 🙂

    • A culinary bed nurse? Oh my godfathers, what I wouldn’t give for one of those.
      That and a 64 year old dram of Macallan. I’ve seen that bottle. It’s guarded by several Beefeaters on loan from the Queen’s guard. One of these days …
      And yes, it’s likely a really good idea to keep my eyes on the kids and their waggish pranks, although apart from my generally annoying habit of breathing, I don’t think I’ve done anything to either one of them to have deserved the invisible bugs from hell tomfoolery. Still, thanks for the heads up.
      And stop joining in on the chorus of complaints over my pantry. I’m very proud of those shelves and their contents. Good, hardy, healthy stocks. All farm animals would hail my choices. 😛

    • Stoshu,
      Rolling on the floor laughing uncontrollably..

      “Jonny Cash playing in the background often help yet, sometimes it’s just a matter of pouring yourself a short glass of Macalla’s 64 year old Scotch. That, and a good grilled cheese sandwich… “

  14. See, this is my waking nightmare. Kudos to you for keeping it together. I would have been in contact with the CDC by now, sure that I had contracted some deadly virus from the deep jungles of South America. Patient Zero, if you will.

    Hope you get it all sorted out with minimal skin grafting.

  15. Have you tried making a paste of baking soda on a wash rag and scrubbing the itches to your heart’s content — either in a bath tub or over a sink? (feels so good!) Then wipe off, rinse, wipe/rub dry with terry cloth towel and don’t put anything else on them. I’m convinced that even if the meds help some, when they wear off, the film over the top aggravates the itching again. This is the one thing that works for me, at least for a while till time to scrub again!

    I’ve been plagued with chigger bites the last couple weeks and know the feeling of wanting to go stark raving mad!!! (including during yoga classes!)

    Good luck! Remember — this too shall pass! (at least that’s what I’m telling myself!)

    Rhea

    • Ooh, the baking soda routine is one I’ve not heard of before and will put it into my barrel of cures for next time. Thankfully, I am well over the hump and I’m comfortable enough to head back out into public places.
      And you clearly hide your insatiable desires to take a go at those chigger bites with aplomb. I’ve never noticed a thing. You always have your Zen going full blast whenever I glance up for assistance. 😉

  16. Ahoy there from across the Atlantic Shelley! I’ve been giggling in recognition of this particular epidermal nightmare, I too look like a medieval victim of smallpox at the moment – and in the most unimaginable places! In France there are mysterious creatures called aoûtas which only come out in August (août) you just cannot see these devils as they do their evil work but the results create a frightful challenge when it comes to dressing; there’s not much goes well with puce red spots 😦 :/

    • Ahah!! Jane, it’s clear you’ve revealed the mystery mite! Surely I was the unhappy recipient of the summer travels of a family of aoûtas, right? I’m sticking with this one.
      And I’m so sorry to hear of your unfortunate run in with the creatures. Why is there not one spot on earth yet where we can all get along without injury?? Although, for your paradise, I would imagine I’d happily put up with quite a lot.
      Happy September. Now off you go you August vermin!

      • I suspect you are correct with the family Aoûta vacation theory, they are determined critters ’tis for sure 😦 Mr H has revealed that they are known in English simply as ‘harvest mites’ , so if you have fields in your vicinity – could be the explanation, that or the Martianmites , Marmites in common parlance … 🙂 😎

  17. Ok, now I too am getting itchy around the bit as I made 60 pounds of fresh jared tomato sauce, frisked the garden for next spring and cut the lawn around the snow piles for the last time this summer. Never mind, too much info.

    Shelley, for lovesakes, stop buying the BS top hair, body & gosh-knows-what shampoo carpet cleaning, wall and bug disinfectant schmuz and go for a swim with the fish at your lake house. Chemicals, bad… Mother Nature’s water… ahh.

    Just don’t go hippy on us, m’k?

    Much love,

    Stoshu 🙂

  18. HILARIOUS! But also mystifying, intriguing and if I’m honest, a bit alarming! To never know the name of that nefarious nocturnal creature and to lie in wait, night after night – beginning to perspire…no, SWEAT – as you lie craving sleep with an ice-addict’s yearning (you know you need it but it will render you worse off), because once you slip into oblivion (punctuated with hideous nightmares), the invisible-legged varmint will strike.

    I really feel you have no alternative but to sell the house, Shelley. A clean start in an invisible-legged varmint-free suburb. (Don’t move to Australia – we’re notorious for insects).

    If you do stay, I’d recommend Aloe Vera. I have a plant on hand for that invisible-legged varmint, I can leap out of bed, break off a frond and enter cool-relief-heaven. 🙂

    PS: Wonderful cartoons, Rob!

    • Ah yes, the magic of aloe. My mom, and quite frankly every mother I knew while growing up, always had a big aloe plant in their kitchens at the ready for scraped knees and itchy rashes showing up on their broods. It might be a little less expensive to get one of those than to move, but I won’t rule out any suggestions. Vermin free is the goal.
      And I’m so glad you liked the cartoons. Maybe go vote for your favorite one? There’s a link on the bottom of the page. It takes two seconds. (And it feeds Rob’s happy soul.) 🙂

  19. I loved this observation: “The cat gazed at me like a therapist stares at his patient.”
    (PS My son had bed bugs and they tend to leave “track bites” i.e in a line. Even though large they can hide fast!)

    • Well then you’ve eased my mind about bed bugs, thank goodness. No lines, just perfectly chosen, scouted out juicy bite marks. An apology letter or a thank you note would have shown some appreciation on the scavenger’s part, but I’m guessing he didn’t have a pen to hand. Ah well. Social graces are disappearing at a rate of knots. *sigh*
      😛

    • Thanks, Melissa–so lovely to see your face and read your words again. I hope you’ve been beavering away at all your writing projects. It feels these days, that there’s little time for sleep anyway on my side of the screen. Writing always comes first! 😉

  20. Shelley,
    Once again you have knocked another one outta the ballpark with this wonderfully entertaining (and ‘informative’) post. This seems to be a habit with you, eh? Home Runs!
    Thoroughly enjoyed your story and all the great comments.
    Bravo!

    • Lance, I think you’ve won commentator of the year thus far. I love this village of writers, bloggers, chefs, photographers, teachers, gardeners, congressmen, ex-convicts … wait, no, I don’t think we’ve anyone to fill that spot yet. It may still be open–but you likely get my point. You help bring them all together and stir up conversation. Love it. And I’ve got bucketfulls of appreciation for your enthusiasm and efforts.
      Thank you, thank you, my friend!
      (Now THIS is good heart therapy, yes? Take care of that ticker.) 😉

  21. Oh god… the other day I woke up to my partner going “Ah! Ah!!” and didn’t know how to react.

    A few days earlier, a gecko had snuck inside, so I thought maybe she saw the gecko.

    Nope.

    Turns out it was a six inch centipede crawling across our bed. It’d already traveled over her foot and was making its way to my calf.

    !!!!

    Luckily I had an empty envelope nearby that I could herd it into before ejecting it outside, but yeesh!

    And my partner was sweating for days, after. Haha….

    • Six inches?!! Egads, Alex, you poor girls. It’s amazing and annoying, isn’t it, that after an episode like that, it takes days for you to regain the comfort of the one place you are most vulnerable in your life? Your bed is supposed to be the safety zone!
      Kind of you to offer it a future after the scare it brought to you both. Fingers crossed that’s some good karma you just racked up. 😉

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