Thursday, August 28, 2003

My mother is evil.

After my bath, I looked up to the ceiling above the tub to find a honking great ugly moth just biding his time, waiting to... moth me. I swiftly removed myself from the lav, requesting assistance vocally. This may have involved the word "mommy."

I do not like moths. They freak the hell out of me. As a child, I had recurring dreams of moths/butterflies landing on my eyes and, through a disturbing process involving tearducts and probosci(ses?), rendering me unable to open my eyelids. Yes, I am aware that this does not really happen. My urge to scream/throw up/run away is not alleviated by this knowledge.

My lovely mother refused to remove the offending insect from the room, even when met with a plaintive, "but I have to pee." Evil. Thirty minutes later, she was in need of something which I had buried somewhere in the Basement Of Death. I told her that I would trade her this item for moth removal. I retrieved said item, then listened from a far-off room to the anti-moth proceedings. Soon, there was a click that sounded like a toilet lid closing, and my mother appeared. "He's gone," she assured me.

Now, when I hear toilet clickage after bug disposal, I expect a tell-tale flush to follow. I suspiciously informed the mother of me that I had not heard this, and she not only laughed at my suspicions, but also at my use of the word "clickage." She opened and closed the stove, picked up and dropped a chair, and generally carried on for about three minutes with various types of clickage. I finally gave her the large mailing envelope (the original trade for committing pesticide), and went to the lav.

This is where I discovered that my mother is an evil, sneaky liar. I opened the lit only to find the appalling insect attempting a backstroke. That's right, not only did she purposely not flush, she left the little guy to drown. Evil torturer of both child and insect, she.

I tried to reappropriate the envelope, but mom is small and quick and wily. At least she was the only witness to the piercing scream that came from the bathroom when I found the damn thing. Distinctly girly. I'm sure it wasn't me.


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