Internet. Has it really been three weeks? I feel like it must have been since I've been on three trips since last telling you anything, but still. The time gets away. Especially when you're (ok, I'm) packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking, packing...
Obviously the lack of posts isn't for lack of things to write about. I just don't seem to ever have the time, mental energy, and internet access all at the same moment. And then more time passes and I start to feel like whatever comes after so much nothing really needs to be, you know, Something. But maybe it just needs to be, you know...something.
Also, I don't even have to figure out where to start with so many things to write about since I've had a specific request. From my husband. Who requested yet another poem (though instead of an epic, this time he decided a haiku wold be more appropriate, since the incident in question happened in Japan) regarding his most recent heroic rescue of me. I pointed out that A) Immediately after the incident in question, I thanked him for rescuing me, to which he responded, "It wasn't really a rescue." and B) He has specifically told me that he doesn't like for me to say nice things about him online. Still, the request stands.
Scene: Our house, late one evening a few weeks ago. I'm downstairs watching TV. Raj is upstairs, prepping his uniform for work the next day (which, as I understand it, involves ironing it and then pinning all his pieces of flair back on).
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Typically, this is the result of having moved my head while catching a glance of the cord from Raj's computer charger. Except this time, it's not. Oh no, it's a three to four-inch long CENTIPEDE. ON MY LIVINGROOM FLOOR.
Me: COME DOWN HERE.
(He would later explain that he thinks a person should state their business when yelling upstairs. He doesn't like to be yelled for, like the person just assumes he knows he's supposed to come down. I explained how never, in nearly five years of our relationship have I yelled for him from another room, let alone another floor and he should, therefore, have understood that he was urgently needed.)
He came down to find me sitting on the arm of the far side of the couch, pointing at where the centipede had been until it had time to scurry off and hide while Raj ignored me. It had been under the end table next to an upholstered chair, so I assumed it had gone under the chair.
Raj flipped over the chair. He looked and looked. He turned the chair upright again and looked some more. We checked the surrounding area. No centipede. Raj shrugged his shoulders, clearly planning to give up the hunt and go back upstairs, like people can just go on living in a house known to contain a four-inch centipede and ever plan to sleep again.
Oh. Hell. No.
While he had very recently misread my panicked shouting of his name, he did not miss the meaning of my facial expression in that moment. Soon after, I spotted it clinging to the side of the chair. Raj went and got one of my flip flops with which to kill it. These flip flops are made of yoga mat material. The thing was on flap of an upholstered chair and, upon falling/jumping off, would land on soft carpet. And I'd recently seen a Facebook post by a Marine who had stepped on a similar centipede on a hard floor with her boot and not managed to kill it. So I suggested that the flip flop was not the best plan.
Raj accepted my offer of the vacuum. I plugged it in and handed him the hose from what he believes was an unreasonable distance away. He tried to suck it up. It fought its way back out. Which was doubly upsetting because the vacuum was my entire plan for if I saw one when Raj wasn't home. (My current plan involves trying to get it to stick itself to the broom, then tossing the broom outside and leaving it there indefinitely.)
What ended up happening was that I held the vacuum hose near it so it couldn't run away, Raj grabbed the centipede with kitchen tongs, took it outside and smashed it with his flip flop on the concrete patio.
Me: Thank you for rescuing me.
Raj: It wasn't really a rescue.
Slayer of dragons
Or of arthropods, at least,
Raj is my hero
You can tell I'm very grateful to him for killing that thing since I have put here in writing the phase "Raj is my hero". You may not recall that in a post several years ago, I called Raj a genius for having brought dark chocolate for our s'mores when we went camping. I can't help but recall it though, as I am very regularly reminded, "I'm a genius. It says so on the internet." So I express my admiration of his bravery in the face of killer vermin despite a very real threat that increased obnoxiousness will be the result. Very, very real.