Monday, April 12, 2004

Woman of the Year
HUMOR by Missy Frederick

The case could be made that I have a somewhat combative personality. I’d beg to differ, but that’d only be so I could pick a fight with you. I love movies starring Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy because the lovers spend most of their time squabbling. My favorite extra-curricular foray was the stab I took at fencing.

But since I realize that constant arguing can put a strain on friendships, and because I can’t afford to invest in karate lessons at the moment, I’m forced to channel my energies into, shall we say, more trivial battles. The current face-off? Between me and the bugs that are attempting to take over my cottage.

The fight first started last August, when I moved into my adorable but poorly insulated apartment. Its 20 windows, high ceilings, ramshackle wooden structure and former status as a carriage house were all very charming – and also very penetrable.

First it was the slugs. As my parents and I moved my belongings into the apartment on a
rainy summer evening, we were greeted by not one, but about a dozen slugs lounging in my walkway. I don’t think I’d ever seen a slug before that night; I had pictured they’d look like overweight earthworms or something. I was not aware that they rival golden retrievers in size. Well, all right, maybe small turtles. As time went on, however I managed to progress from experiencing a jolt of fear each time I walked down the walkway at night to uttering an occasional “ew” if I scampered outside barefoot and wound up with slug juice underneath my feet.

The slugs were the first, but they were hardly the last creature to invade my home territory. From potato bugs in the shower, to spiders in the corners, to unidentified creatures in my bed at night, the bugs kept coming. Sometimes I had only myself to blame, and I temporarily broke my habit of leaving dirty dishes out for days at a time, I soon began cackling as ants were no longer given the satisfaction of feeding on the remnants of last night’s chicken dijon. Slowly I overcame my fear of the creepy crawly and was able to concentrate my trepidation on more rational phobias, such as mirrors and horror movie scenes that take place in bathrooms.

One pesky bug, however, still haunts my nightmares, and that is the cricket that lived in my laundry room for a week. Late at night it would taunt me with its constant chirping. I don’t know what it is about crickets. I think it’s their irregular hopping pattern that you just can’t seem to dodge. Or maybe it’s because their sound reminds me of the screeching cockroaches that my seventh grade science teacher inflicted on her poor defenseless students in junior high. Either way, at night I would slowly open the laundry room door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cricket in time to squash it, only to have it leap maniacally towards me. I would shut the door in haste. Eventually I squashed the damn thing, but not after additional sweat, tears and humiliation.

Eventually I persevered in the battle of Missy and the bugs, but it was not bravery or craft that caused me to win the fight - my savior was a change in season. Once the snowier months arrived, the bugs returned to their natural habitat, and I had other wars to contend with, such as the antics of my ever-faulty heating system. The bugs knew what was good for them, and stayed away. I even survived The Shattered Bottle of Rice Wine Incident without an ant infestation, despite the fact that I’m still cleaning up the sticky results of my own klutziness on that one.

But those rebels refuse to be squashed; they’re returning, slowly and confidently. I felt something crawl up my leg on the couch the other day, and I know it wasn’t my imagination. I’m again having to check the shower before entry, and have now added a morning kill to my morning cleaning rituals. I shudder to think what will happen once spring arrives in more than name only.

But with my Raid in hand and my fears firmly in check, I’m prepared to face whatever these insects have in store for me.

I just hope there aren’t any more crickets.


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