There they were all assembled Sunday night. My FAMILY... FA - MI - LY. Those people who say they love me and would do anything for me in my fiberglass encrusted position. Or not...
Apparently I have made the sickening and somewhat sudden discovery of a soundproofing heretofore unrecognized in our home which prevented them from coming to help me at all.
I was taking care of business in the bathroom when a big ol' whacking wasp was flying around me. It was huge, evil and menacing with its nastiest venom waiting to be inserted into my freshly punctured skin. It was eyeing my tender posterior as a likely and decent sized target. I was trying to figure out how to run at sprinters speed on one leg.
Since we have two other functional bathrooms, I figure they would have found my lifeless body about Saturday night when Jared needs his next bath in the barrier-free shower.
By that time, I would have been unable to be molded into shape to fit in a traditional coffin and flashes of a redneck Hefty-bag funeral straight to the county dump began to flicker into view.
I was in a panic as the threat of doom swirled ever closer and I could feel my lungs collapsing, my heartbeat fading away all the while I am calling out for help and no one comes...not even the dog! I am sensitive to stings of almost every kind in that slight way that requires some kind of intervention and the horror is that the only thing I had between me and almost certain and semi-clad humiliating death was a pair of crutches.
Left to my own devices, I did what any self-respecting mighty woman would do.
I smacked the ever loving fire out of the wasp in midair and began to pound the snot out of him as he lay on the tile wiggling and squirming in a vain attempt to rise again and seize the day.
There is a certain berserker quality that takes over when bug killing is required. The viking in my blood rises to the occasion and I believe giblets of thorax and wing sections were liberally splattered across the floor, the wall and the appliances near me.
Thankfully none of the giblets hit me or we would have been back to running on one leg in the vain hope that I wouldn't trip on the pants around my ankles.
Incensed at what I was certain was a blatant attempt to cash in on my life insurance policy, I completed the task at hand, got myself back together and hobbled out on the gut infested crutches to my chair. I asked them why they didn't come rescue me.
Looking as blankly and innocently as possible, they said "We didn't hear anything..."
Sure.
Screaming people are always covered up by a brisk game of Wii Tennis and besides, we would all enjoy a pool table.
Oh wait.
I won't enjoy it.
I'll be DEAD long before any of you cretins come to save me!
Now I understand that statement that I heard years ago, "You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family."
Perhaps the halcyon glow of my value when dead has made them feel a wasp killing was good enough to bring them the cash while preventing the finger of blame going in their direction.
Sadly, I killed their minion, so the wasp can't talk for himself... or buzz or whatever it is they do. And does anyone reliably translate from Wasp to English for court proceedings?
Either way, I'd be dead and cluttering up the floor and possibly blocking the dog door which would greatly inconvenience the family and resident canine.
'kay, y'all. I'll make sure the next time I'm trying to go potty that I send one of YOU in first to take the hit for me.
Then I'd get to decide how YOUR insurance money gets spent.
Love ya bunches...unless a wasp is involved. Then you are on your own.
