Tomorrow is SH's birthday. He is in California all week for some training thingy. I didn't want him to spend his birthday with a bunch of engineers and no cake, so I thought about arranging one (dark chocolate no fruit especially not strawberries or raspberries) for him while he was there. I wasn't sure if he would like that, though, so I emailed two of his best friends to ask for their input.
This is where we spent SH's birthday last year.
Both said no, which confirmed my deep, dark suspicion, which is that SH does not really like to be the center of attention unless he is in a place where there is beer and cigarette smoke, which of course is impossible in California.*
So I am left with just the card I slipped into his suitcase, which tells him I would totally throw myself on a bee for him. If journalspace hadn't blown it and lost four years of blogging (and not even refunded my premium fee), I could have linked to the post that explains why this is funny and then we could all have a good laugh.
Ah, New Orleans.
Or I could re-post from my archives.
Oh come on. You didn't think I hadn't backed it all up, did you? Yeah, journalspace lost everything, but I didn't. It's just a pain to get to.
You know, heat and humidity don't seem so bad when you compare them to ice, snow and wind chill.
So here's the story, with my edits added.
Seven at one blow
SH is on a mission. He has discovered some sort of wasp in my basement and he is determined to eradicate them. Me, I believe in peaceful co-existence with all of God’s creatures, so I just ignore the creatures that buzz around when I do laundry. I leave them alone, they leave me alone. We have a MAD policy. It works for us.
But SH, the liberal “we shouldn’t have invaded Iraq,” no, he’s ready to go to war. Go figure. He goes into the basement yesterday to turn off the water in preparation for replacing some – stuff – in my shower. I’m sure there’s a technical word for it but I don’t know it. It’s the thingy to make my shower stop leaking. I’m very grateful to him. But when he got down there, the buzzy bugs were awake for the summer and he was startled.
[there was a photo here that I no longer have of two dead mud daubers]
He stunned these two, then dropped them into the bleach water where I was soaking a scrub brush to kill them. He didn’t want to smash them beyond recognition because they wouldn’t be good samples. SH is a good scientist.
I promised I wouldn’t write about his reaction, especially as he is a ferocious cockroach killer and washing-machine repairer and auto-battery replacer. He is an excellent boyfriend with more good points than I can count. So I won’t.
I like all the color there.
May 12, 2009
But now the truth can be told. We are married and it's time to let it all hang out. What really happened on those stairs? I was in the front of the house minding my own business when I heard a horrible blood-curdling scream, as if a little girl had fallen down the basement stairs.
I ran to the kitchen, sure SH would be lying on the basement floor with his broken femur poking through his thigh. It would be OK, though, because I know how to make a tourniquet**, even if I don't know how to spell it. Thank goodness for spellcheck.
Nothing that bad. Nothing that bad at all.
He wasn't injured.
He wasn't in danger.
He was -- startled.
By mud daubers. Which are bugs that look like wasps but 1) do not sting and 2) stay a good 18" away from humans because They Are More Scared Of Us Than We Are Of Them.
By mud daubers which he thought were wasps which happen to be something he is scared of.
This was where I first began to learn I was in love with a Drama King. A Drama King who reacts strongly to the slightest provocation. His reactions cause chain reactions. That is, he will make a noise that makes my adrenaline release, even though the event is not adrenaline worthy. Indeed, he has released no adrenaline. He is just fine. He is calm. His drama threshold is so high that he doesn't even realize that he has said "OH! NOOOOO!" for something like "I just dropped a pencil! on the FLOOR!" Whereas an "OH NOOOOO!" in my family was reserved for things like, "OH NOOOO The toilet just overflowed and it hadn't even been flushed and the plunger is in the other bathroom!"
Back to the original post, June 24, 2006
But buzzy wasp-like things are “not his favorite,” shall we say.
When he returned from the hardware store, he had major chemicals.
Again, these bugs have never bothered me. I just shoosh them away and go on about my bidness.
Today, he is determined to find their source and kill them dead. They say a conservative is a liberal who has been mugged. I think he has reached his defining moment. (At last!!!! I am so happy! Of course, one of the very – and many – good things about SH is that he is an engineer and can be convinced with data. The discovery of the WMDs this week gave him pause and he is definitely on board about Cuba now and thinks the Castro-lovers in the Democratic party are jerks and morons. So this wasp thing might be just what we needed to make him understand that sometimes, diplomacy doesn’t work and you have to resort to bombing the heck out of the enemy, especially when your enemy lives only to harm.)
He has spent the past hour chasing them down, trying to get a sample so he can match one to what he has found on the net. He wants to find the best way to kill them, you see.
At first, he thought they were regular wasps. Then he thought they were wood-boring wasps, which led to the obvious joke that they corner you at a party and talk your ear off about wood. Then he decided they were spider eating wasps. Now he thinks they might be mud daubers. None of the latter are human-stinging wasps.
I think he might be a little bit disappointed if they turn out to be harmless and he doesn’t get to destroy them. We talked this morning about how we played as children. We both liked to build things with blocks – and then knock them down.
Human nature is funny that way.
* Apparently, fat-laden meat is also not allowed there now, either, if the guy at Usinger's today is any indication. We were both loading up at the sausage bargain counter. Me, because I just love meat and he because he can't get this stuff in California. "Illegal," he said. "Too much fat." Don't laugh. First, they came for your cigarettes. Then, they came for your Coca-Cola. Next, they'll come for your steaks.
** And I even know I shouldn't make one except as a last resort if we were out in the wild and he was about to bleed to death. MeanMommyDoc, I would have called 911 and NOT MOVED HIM.