This brings back memories of recess.
Since I’m no good at sports, it does not surprise me in any way that “I’m it.”
Story of my life.
I’ve always been an easy target, since when running, I have to stop and cough up my lungs every couple minutes AND give myself mouth-to-mouth.
I’m supposed to tell you five things you don’t know about me.
This ought to be interesting. Most of you can’t believe the things you already know about me, so for ME to pull something out of hiding, I might come up with some shockers…
I thought I would theme my list…5 things you don’t know I hate.
1. I hate hot dogs. They taste like you are eating bad breath. At parties I just eat chili bread. The bun, chili and cheese. Yum.
2. I hate Aaron Neville. If you are a man, you just should not sing like a woman. Isn’t that a well-known fact? You would think that not dressing your vocal chords in drag would be an unspoken rule in society. Also, if you are wealthy and famous, you should have surgery on poofy things that are on your face. Really. You just should.
3. I hate ceiling fans. I hate that they blow air on my lips. I hate that I have a recurrent nightmare where a ceiling fan falls from the sky and chops my legs off in my bed.
4. I hate frogs. Hate them. There are several reasons for this. When I was in elementary school I had a dream that I was running...that's a nightmare enough right there...but, it gets better. While I was running down the road, a mean kid from our neighborhood was sitting on the curb. As I passed by him, he threw a frog on my leg. See? Mean. The frog landed in the arc on the back of my leg behind my knee. The next time I lifted my leg to keep running, I squished the frog's guts out all over the back of my leg. Sick.
In 8th grade, I completely peed my pants...like all the way...as in no more pee left in my bladder all because of a frog. We were trick or treating. Yep. You read correctly. I was in 8th grade. What was wrong with me? A bunch of friends dressed up like Cher...the old Cher...the "I Got You Babe" Cher. We wore hippy clothes and tall shoes. We also walked so far to fill our bags with enough candy to last all year, that our feet hurt in those shoes. We took them off. As we were walking up to the next door on the street, part of the group ran ahead and rang the doorbell. The lollygaggers took our time walking up the long sidewalk to the house. Between the time when the doorbell button was pushed and the owner of the doorbell opened the door, my friend stops and says, "I think I just stepped on a frog." We all just looked at her thinking that we were sure only uncles used this odd phrase to describe tooting. She wasn't our uncle. She was our friend. Why didn't she know that? Then, our friend lifts her foot into the air...and yep...a frog is smashed and hanging from her bare foot. She looked at her foot, then put her foot back down and then started throwing up in the grass. I started laughing. When the man opened the door, looked out and saw my friend throwing up in his nice yard...when I saw his confusion...how he was obviously thinking that this whole trick or treat phenomenon had greatly changed since he was a kid...that's when my laughing got even more out of control. An uncontrollable urine flood fell into my hippy pants. I had to walk all the way home soaked in tee-tee.
If that isn't traumatic enough, a year ago, Mike Garratt brought a frog into his HOPE Group that I was VISITING and put that frog on my shirt. I went nuts and climbed Bill Magee. I have never been more embarrased by myself. Later, I found out ANSON told Mike to do it! Frogs. I hate them.
5. I hate roaches. About two years ago, I was asleep in my bed. I felt something on my arm. I shook my arm. I heard a solid “thud” when that "thing" landed near me. I came out of my drowsy state and immediately began punching Aaron, shrieking… “Turn on the light. I think something was on me. I think something was on me.” He turned on the light. We saw nothing.
I convulsed, shaking my head just thinking about a roach being on me. My convulsing knocked a HUGE black roach out of my HAIR. It landed on our bed and ran across our white sheets. It was 3 a.m. I SCREAMED uncontrollably, knowing full well I was going to wake the kids, but I was completely powerless to stop the screaming.
I RAN down the hall to the bathroom. I stood there crying…heaving.
I could hear Aaron making all sorts of noise in our bedroom hunting down and killing the insect from hell. I heard him go to the other bathroom and flush. He opened up the door to the bathroom where I was to find his wife BAWLING, NAKED, standing in the bathtub. He immediately shut the door and stood in the hall, trying to compose himself. He opened up the door, with sort of a straight face and said, “Are you ok?” I don’t know why I had to take my clothes off. I could NOT stop crying. I really was terrified. And I felt like I had been violated. I threw my pajamas in the trash. I would never wear them again.
We went into the living room. I tried to sit on the couch. I could not. I had to stand. I was afraid a roach would get on me. I STOOD in the middle of the living room floor and watched two episodes of Fresh Prince of Bellaire. The whole time Aaron kept begging me to come back to bed, or to at least sit down. He kept telling me that we don’t normally have roaches in our house, and so my fear of another roach getting on me was nuts. But what if they were having a family reunion? What if it was woodstock for roaches week?
Eventually, I went back to our bedroom. We turned off the light. Not even a minute later, I told Aaron I couldn’t sleep in the dark...ever again. We turned back on the light. About 30 minutes later, I woke Aaron back up and asked him to move our bed into the center of the room. He did. Then, I got up, got a blanket and wrapped myself up like a human burrito. Only my nose and mouth were showing. I felt Muslim. I also felt very sweaty. Even though I was drenched in sweat underneath the blanket, I could not sleep with out it. We woke up in the morning, with our light on, our bed in the middle of the room, with Muslim me lying in the MIDDLE of our bed horizontally. It was the worst night of my life.
The next morning was a Saturday. I started calling my pest control man, who I already had a great relationship with due to my insanity about anything creepy crawly. I left a message. I called every hour on the hour. Every time I would say, “Darwin…it’s Heather. I REALLY need you to call me…today…please.” By 2 p.m. this is the message I left…
“Darwin…ok…here’s the deal. A ROACH got on me. On my skin. It touched my skin. While I was sleeping. (I think I started crying again at this point in the message). Please. You have to come over here. Please. If you don’t come today, I am going to have to go sleep at the Marriot. Please. (my voice got squeaky here). Call me Darwin.” He called an hour later.
He said my messages had been played over and over again by several different employees…that this was the best Saturday of their lives. He was out of town, so they couldn’t reach him. He came over that day, with several other people. They sprayed the whole house again…and even crawled under our house and dusted with something so strong that I could not even let the kids play outside for 48 hours. I’ve never been more thankful for toxins in my whole life.
The next few nights I still could not sleep. What if the dust didn’t work? Over a week later, I was so exhausted from barely sleeping. I asked Aaron this very difficult question:
“Do you think our kids will look back at their life at home and think it is more weird that their mom slept with her light on wearing one of those cool movie star eye covers, or would they think it was more weird that I slept in a tent on our bed...but in the dark?"
He just stared at me.
I went with the tent.
They could play with it during the day…I could sleep in it at night. They wouldn’t think that was weird. They would think I was cool.
The tent was the only solution.
I researched the roach online.
They come out during the day too, so sleeping with the light on wearing a cool movie star eye cover would not work.
During all those nights I wasn’t sleeping, I brainstormed every possible way to keep a roach from ever getting on me again. Caulking our whole bedroom? Moving my whole family to a daytime sleeping schedule? Laser sensors? Levitating in my sleep? None of those would work. I either did not know how to do those things, or a roach could come from the ceiling and fall on me. It brought me to tears just thinking of how defeated I was by a devil insect that isn't always nocturnal.
The tent was a brilliant idea.
I could inspect it for roaches before bedtime every night. Then, I could climb in, zip it up…and there you go…no way no how could a roach get on me.
And, since we were pitching the tent on our bed, it would be comfy.
And, since I would never in a million years ever camp in a tent in real life…like outside somewhere, this could be a great compromise.
There is no better description of a win, win situation in my opinion.
That night, I got in the tent, zipped myself up, so relieved to at least get one good night’s sleep. Aaron refused to participate. He slept on the couch.
Well, for half the night he slept on the couch. I went and got him at 3 a.m. because I was AGAIN drenched in sweat from sleeping in the tent. It seems it gets hot in tents if there isn’t any wind. And, since tents really aren’t meant for indoor sleeping, my fail proof plan was FAILING.
Then we moved a month later to a new house...for a bunch of reasons, none of them being the roach.
When we called Darwin to say we up and moved, he said, “Was this because of the roach on Heather?”
That poor man!
Now who to tag?
Just 5? I want to hear 5 things we don't know about you from ALL of you!
But to keep the game officially going, I tag:
Brookie, Jenn, Kathryn, Kirby and sweet little Sydni.