Those of you who know me, know this. I am honestly, entirely, and completely afraid of worms. All worms. Anything that looks like a worm (except, oddly, a snake). I cannot tolerate these creatures are allowed to live on the same planet as me. I will NOT come into physical contact with them for all the darn tea in China. They scare me, and quite often will get up on their hind legs, hiss, show their fangs and threaten to kill me.
In other words, I HATE WORMS.
So, last night, I'm innocently preparing another fine dinner for Fantastic Man and I, including a lovely fresh salad prepared from exquisite and inexpensive Romaine lettuce. The potatoes were nicely browning in the skillet, the red cabbage getting warm, the salmon broiling beautifully in the broiler. I had shredded the lettuce, peeled and chopped the onion, cut up the red pepper, crumbled the feta and went to do a little clean up in the sink (of course we don't have a garbage disposal, this ain't America folks!).
And, there, right in my sink, was a light gray, dual antennaed SLUG! Oh God, I'm glad I took my blood pressure pill this morning. I think FM is napping on the couch, waiting for his call to dinner, and I make appropriate "I'm going to die" sounds, but quietly, so as not to wake him. I think, "It's okay, you can do this, you don't need a man,". I had just killed a big ole spider stalking my stovetop earlier that day. No biggie.
But, I'm freaking out. FINALLY, FM comes into the kitchen to see what all the low level whimpering is about, and I scream, "THERE'S A WORM IN THE SINK!!!!!". And do the uggah buggah dance and run for the safety of the living room.
Knowing fully this irrational fear of mine, he bravely goes directly to the sink to remove the offensive object. But, he's in there going, "What should I do with him?", and I'm wondering how he knows it's a male (okay, I'm NOT, I'm wondering what the H3LL he's asking me for, just get RID of it!). So, I suggest throwing it out the window above the sink (No, there are no screens on our windows, this ain't America!). And he does. And I live.
And, I toss the entire salad into the trash.
It's nice to be married to a hero.
Although I am afraid he didn't launch the little guy out the window far enough, and he may be slowly edging his way back up the wall, leaving a trail of slime and gore, to our unscreened window, waiting to take his revenge on me while I sleep. . . .
The whole experience lends credence to a thought I've had recently (READ: most of my life), that I should just STAY OUT OF THE KITCHEN (unless it's to get another beer. . .).
In other words, I HATE WORMS.
So, last night, I'm innocently preparing another fine dinner for Fantastic Man and I, including a lovely fresh salad prepared from exquisite and inexpensive Romaine lettuce. The potatoes were nicely browning in the skillet, the red cabbage getting warm, the salmon broiling beautifully in the broiler. I had shredded the lettuce, peeled and chopped the onion, cut up the red pepper, crumbled the feta and went to do a little clean up in the sink (of course we don't have a garbage disposal, this ain't America folks!).
And, there, right in my sink, was a light gray, dual antennaed SLUG! Oh God, I'm glad I took my blood pressure pill this morning. I think FM is napping on the couch, waiting for his call to dinner, and I make appropriate "I'm going to die" sounds, but quietly, so as not to wake him. I think, "It's okay, you can do this, you don't need a man,". I had just killed a big ole spider stalking my stovetop earlier that day. No biggie.
But, I'm freaking out. FINALLY, FM comes into the kitchen to see what all the low level whimpering is about, and I scream, "THERE'S A WORM IN THE SINK!!!!!". And do the uggah buggah dance and run for the safety of the living room.
Knowing fully this irrational fear of mine, he bravely goes directly to the sink to remove the offensive object. But, he's in there going, "What should I do with him?", and I'm wondering how he knows it's a male (okay, I'm NOT, I'm wondering what the H3LL he's asking me for, just get RID of it!). So, I suggest throwing it out the window above the sink (No, there are no screens on our windows, this ain't America!). And he does. And I live.
And, I toss the entire salad into the trash.
It's nice to be married to a hero.
Although I am afraid he didn't launch the little guy out the window far enough, and he may be slowly edging his way back up the wall, leaving a trail of slime and gore, to our unscreened window, waiting to take his revenge on me while I sleep. . . .
The whole experience lends credence to a thought I've had recently (READ: most of my life), that I should just STAY OUT OF THE KITCHEN (unless it's to get another beer. . .).
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