I bolted awake at 4:00 a.m. Sunday morning knowing in my heart (which was up in my throat at that exact moment) the flapping noise I'd just heard RIGHT BESIDE ME was not our darling dog Marla shaking her head. It was a bat, and it was on the floor next to the patio door, which is right beside our bed. RIGHT BESIDE ME, in case I've not been clear.
I am TERRIFIED of bats. HYSTERICALLY FRIGHTENED of them. And I was home alone with our daughter, who was soundly sleeping in her bedroom and a dog who likes to lay as close as possible to the floor in this heatwave and just watch the world go by. Chasing after bats just doesn't interest her because she will only lift her head if it looks like the humans might feed her.
So I did what any self-respecting mummy in a modern world would do: I screamed. Very loudly. And ran out of our bedroom trying to slam the door closed behind me, flicked a couple of lights on and hid in the baby's room. Then realized I didn't have the phone with me and was going to have to go back to the bedroom where the bat was no doubt flying around and calling all his little bat friends to come and join the fun. Hey, guys! C'mon! You gotta check this out! She's still screaming and crying! It's awesome! I am a SUPA-STAR!!
I peeked out the door in time to see the bat go flying out of our bedroom and down the hall to hide who-knows-where, grabbed my 2-year-old, and ran back into our room. Both daughter and dog are looking at me like, I don't know, I've lost my mind because at this point I have.
Did I mention the hysterical sobbing? Incomprehensible crying? Oh yes, and I tried calling my hubby who had TURNED THE CELL PHONE OFF, reached our friend Phil instead (thank you, thank you, thank you, Uncle Philly), who very calmly said something along the lines of "You'll be fine, let me walk down to your cottage and get Jeff for you." And when I heard my Jeff's voice, I lost it even further because he was 2 hours away and sniff, there's, sniff, a B-A-A-sniff-half-scream-A-TTT, sniff, in the H-O-U-scream-with abject-terror-S-S-S-E-E and he very firmly tells me to calm down because I'm going to have to try to find and get rid of it on my own. Yeah, nooo, not anywhere close to that happening in this lifetime or the next ten.
Not much he can do from where he is and I think I'm about to pass out or throw up but decide to call my sister, Bebe, who is on her way at 4:30 a.m. I feel much better after she searches around, then I feel not so great because she couldn't find it and my bat-dar is going nutty 'cause I know it's still in the house. I call my hubby back who suggests that I try to go back to sleep for little bit and then why don't I come up to the cottage later in the morning and spend the day? Later in the morning? It's 5:45 a.m. and I'm leaving in less than five minutes.
To conclude:
1. My sister knows how absolutely petrified I am of bats so she was willing and able to drive 30 minutes one-way to get to my house to deal with this for her blubbering-scared-stiff sister. She also knows how much I love her for being there for me when I'm about to launch myself off the edge of abject fear and she is very calm and awesome with reassuring hugs. Plus, she is one of the best bat-busters out there, but you can't have her, she's mine.
2. My Jeff. One of the reasons I love him is that he WILL tell me to 'CALM THE FUCK DOWN' exactly when I need to hear it, and even if I cannot do it, it pisses me off and gets me to focus for a necessary crucial moment away from the edge of hysteria.
Also? Because he killed that mother-fucking-bat with a tennis racket last night. Let me tell you, having my hubby seek and destroy the thing I am most scared of is pretty high on the list of reasons I love him so much.
That and he's a really good kisser.
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