Exercise before Excorcism.

UPS dropped a box on my doorstep this morning and I screamed when I opened it. Happy screams, it was a box of Galleys (advance reader editions) of No Girl Needs a Husband Seven days a Week. I react the same way to every book. That initial box opening is always like the first time. Don't we wish more things could be that way?
One things for sure, things are getting back to normal. I have galleys in my hand and new proposal in. The kids are back in school so peace is restored in my daytime household.
And the critters are haunting me again.
If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know I have my issues with nature. Natural water. Wild animals. Pestilence.
I thought I'd appeased the earth goddess and we'd made amends, but the more things change the more they stay the same.
I'd dropped my kids at school and headed back to the office. I'd decided it was a mail day, so I stopped at the bottom of the hill to retrieve the mail. My mail box is long as opposed to deep, so I flipped open the metal top, stuck my hand into the almost-full receptacle and pulled out fliers and magazine and catalogs, piling it all up in the crook of my arm.
I made sure the box was empty, then trudged acorss the gravel field back to my driveway and ploppled myself back inside my waiting car.
The control freak in me always comes out at this point and today was no exception, I put the mail in my lap, put the car in gear and tried to flip through the mail as I drove up the hill. I multitask.
I have to be the first to read the mail or crack the pages of my favorite catalogs.
After a few envelopes, I almost jumped out of my skin.
A scorpion was in the middle of the mail, glaring at me, tapping its dinosaur foot because I'd disturbed its resting place.
I started screaming and slammed on the brakes, then grabbed a dental appointment reminder card.
I let my door swing open and tried to flick the little bugger back out into nature.
You'd think I never seen one of these things before.
No one could hear me holler in my house, but I was sure my neighbors could.
I imagined them holding their stomachs, rolling around in their secluded front yards, laughing so hard they would certainly need a change of underwear.
Mail slid out the door.
Mail slid on the floor.
The scorpion, however, found its way onto my seat.
The one I was sitting in.
My foot was still on the brakes.
I still hollered.
But I arched into Yoga's wagon wheel position, liftng my backside off the seat. There was no meaning to squat and hover.
I gripped the steering wheel with my thighs like it was a Magic Circle from Pilates.
And the scorpion did the Cupid Shuffle on my seat.
I flicked it and flicked it some more while it laughed at me.
It fell on the floor and I flicked harder.
No, I don't know why I didn't step on it.
I changed my choice of flicker to a more substantial furniture sale flier, and I was finally able to launch it back outside.
I realized that I was screaming now and abruptly ceased violating the neighborhood noise ordinance.
I scoured the area for sight of the dancing dinosuar, and I thought I saw him, so I carefully picked up my mail, piece by pecce, and threw it on the floor of the passenger side of my car.
Crisis averted.
or so I thought.
I went about my way with a positive attitude, thinking that not only had I done a good thing and not killed the scorpion, but I'd exercised my diaphragm and my thighs.
Later that day, walking through my bathroom, I saw a stick on the rug.
It was sort of dark, so I went to turn on the light to pick up that stick. I stepped over it and felt it lightly under my foot, but at the last minute, I raised my heel, avoiding stepping on it.
Imagine my surpise when I turned around and saw that it wan't a stick at all.
It was the scorpion!
And then I knew that this was no ordinary scorpion.
This was the ghost of scorpions past.
And I do believe it had stung me on the foot and thanks to want of pedicure, the leather-like skin on the bottom of my foot kept it from being able to leave its mark.
(Remember my waxing hell? Well, I haven't been back to that salon for anything since.)
I started screaming again, and this time I'm sure they heard me in my house but chose to ignore me.
I jumped over the scorpion haint and ran to my closet to retrieve a scorpion killer (AKA a shoe).
I Had to chose carefully, there were some I certainly didn't want scorpion juice on.
I finally settled on a Nine West shoe. (Not expensive but not flimpsy either), and ran back to view the little menace.
Little Dinosaur.
I hit it until the tail separated from the body and the dinosaur demon was fully excorcised.
More sweat.
I stood there, hands on hips, gloating and just then the family came running.
Too late.
I'd done the deed.
No paramedics required.


BLNS said…
OMG!!!!! You "B" Crazy....LOLOLOLOL!!!!!!!! These things only happen to you. Thank you I needed a good laugh.
Anonymous said…
SWISH!!!! That is the sound of the blood of a thousand scorpions being thrown on your favorite pair of manolos as you walk down the street.

(People for the Ethical Treatment of Scorpions, Spiders and Icky Bugs)
Tremaya said…
I too live in Texas so I totally feel your horror. I once discovered driving in to work one day, a HAND-sized roach on the interior door handle (driver's side of course!) of my car as I sat at a red light on my way to work. Needless to say the light turned green as I made this discovery. It wasn't a pretty event!:)
Carmen said…
Look Lady,
You are from Scorpions and they are trying to take you back to the motherland. Go Kimosabe, just go, dammit. I'm tired of you and your scoprion stories! You scare the crap out of people, and the ambulance company isn't interested in carting your half-poisoned carcass up and down your danged hill. I'm not coming to your house in two weeks if you don't promise to have you and your critter friends under control. Do you hear me Ninathescorpionlover??
Carmen the scorpion hater!!
adrianne Byrd said…
Absolutely hilarious!!!
Mega Rich said…
I did active duty for the Army in El Paso and AIT in San Antonio back in the late 80's. I did time in the desert and never once saw a scorpion, they must really like you.

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