It’s been a really weird kinda day. I’ve been thinking all evening over what to write about for my grateful piece, and it just came to me a moment ago, literally as I was logging in to WordPress… over an incident that occurred not even 2 hours ago.
Hubbie killed a spider.
I walked into the room with baby girl after her bath, and saw the big mofo up on the wall. I tried not to make a fuss and hid baby girl from it, but she feels our vibes. Too late on that one. I’m trying not to make her a any-type-of-bug-insect-pansy like me, but she’s seen me shriek bloody murder too many times at the creepy crawlies to prevent that from happening now.
Hubbie gets a tissue, moves some boxes against the wall below the spider aside, steps up onto a nearby chair, and I wince, my back turned against him, waiting for him to go “crap!” and then for me to tear out the room with baby girl as he goes chasing the runabout spider all around the place.
But nothing. Instead, “it’s gone.”
“Are you sure?” Bugs must be dead, not ‘kind of’ dead, legs rotating in my face as I later open the bin to throw some food scraps out. I want them in bug heaven, on their way to America* kinda dead.
I hesitantly turn and from afar see a squashed up dark thing in his tissue. Yep. Whatever. That’s all the proof I need.
No fuss. No stress. Quick. Easy. No remnants of a spider ever being there left behind. I feel… proud. Relieved. Rapt. Grateful, in fact.
“See baby girl? That’s what you need in a husband – one who kills bugs quickly.”
Screw honesty. Dedication is overrated. Passion is nothing if he isn’t willing to defend you from creepy crawlers. And loyalty is just like, bleh.
All you need is a man who will kill any bug for you, and do it willingly, with no drama, and no hesitation.
Man see bug – GONE.
This is the perfect husband. I’m getting baby girl to take notes.
(*When I was little and my Mum would clean up the spiders from around the house when Dad was at work, she’d squash them in a tissue if little, or if big catch them in a broom, and throw the tissue/shake the brooms end into the toilet, before flushing the bugger away. And her catch phrase? “There he goes, off to America.” I think that seemed far away enough for her that she thought I would be satisfied it is long gone, but I was always confused over how any kind of dead spider could make it that far…)