Approximately 99% of the time, I like to think of myself as an independent woman. I earn my own money, pay my own bills, do my own housekeeping, and I get along with myself very well most of the time. But every once in a while I’m confronted with my own weakness, and realize that I’m not all that independent. Why? Because I’m a scaredy cat.
That’s a more positive way of looking at it! (source)
I have an irrational fear of spiders; I’m so scared of those darn things, that I don’t even dare to kill them with my own hands. Or any other object in my vicinity, for that matter. No, sir. So what does Miss Independent do? Ask the man of the house to do it for her. But here’s the catch; le man isn’t always around when the eight-legged freaks are, and since he lives around two hours away, it’s not an option to call him everytime there’s one of them around. So far, I’ve been lucky enough not to see one (or more) when he’s not here, but I don’t look for the day that’s going to change. And with some kind of summer coming, I think it’s going to be soon!
Despite this silly fear I’m rational enough to realize that arachnoids and other insectlike creatures should be the least of my concerns; it’s freaks of the two-legged persuasion that are most dangerous for a small girl all on her own, especially now that there have been a lot of robberies in the neighbourhood. But they just don’t freak me out as much.
The reason I was inspired to write this post, is that I’ve been hearing a really weird noise coming from the exhaust hood in the kitchen the other day. It was a creepy scratchy sound, maybe like little claws or a larger insect (cockroach, anyone?). I know there are mice in the garbage basement here, so I figured anything’s possible. And that’s when the panic started; le man was already on his way, but only just, meaning it would be another hour and a half until he’d arrive. I had two options: either be a man and open the damn thing up and see what’s in there (I was already having mental pictures of a gross nest of bugs of some sort), or stay the fuck away from that thing and put on some music as loud as necessary.
Usually, I’d try to challenge myself into facing my fear, but not that day. Oh hell no. Luckily, my dad called to tell me he was on his way to check out something (the apartment is permanently under construction!), so I thought it would all be over soon. And I couldn’t have been more wrong! Despite a difference in traveling time of pretty much an hour, le man made it in before dad. But that didn’t save my sorry butt, because even he didn’t want to open the hood. He did, however, try to chase the thing away by banging on the hood. It didn’t help one bit.
Eventually (and prepare for an anticlimax!) dad arrived, opened up the hood and unmasked the culprit: a newspaper that we’d shoved in there somewhere during the winter to try and lessen the underpressure in the house caused by the combination of drafts and automatic aspiration of air through the vents, amongst which was the hood. It had sagged a little, and one of the corners was scraping against the netting of the hood’s filter.
I felt like a total ass, but in the end we all laughed about it. Maybe I’ll learn something from it, like that things aren’t always as scary as they seem. If nothing else, I might be able to convince le man that I really, really need to get a cat if he doesn’t move in any time soon. Cats eat bugs, right?
Until next time!