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The Centipede Hunter
By Camerin Courtney
August 8, 2001
I was talking on the phone with my friend Julie when I saw it: the biggest, ugliest bug I've ever seen. Its antennae were at least an inch long, its body was a good two inches, it had more legs than the Rockettes
and it was in MY sink!
I let out a yelp that was surely heard throughout the tri-state area, and ran from the room faster than you can say, "It's only a bug, you big baby!" When I finally returned to the kitchen and tried to keep an eye on the vile creature from my safe perch on a chair half-way across the kitchen to make sure it didn't escape from my sink, I pondered my options (and questioned God as to why he created something so hideous). Considering the multi-legged menace wouldn't be paying rent and that I couldn't spend all my time at home on a chair, I knew he had to go. But since I live alone, I knew if he was going to be disposed of, I would have to be the disposer.
Julie, dear friend that she is, stuck with me on the phone through all this chaos and talked me through my attack plan complete with my chunkiest shoe, a spatula, and a wad of paper towels that consisted of about half the roll. With a battle cry to rival Mel's in Braveheart, I smashed the poor sucker into oblivion. Then, not showing much bravery or heart, I avoided my kitchen sink for the next three days.
My extreme fear of squiggly things is why having someone to kill bugs is on my short-list of reasons I want a mate (besides the bigger, more obvious reasons, of course) right there next to having someone to scrape ice off my car in the winter and keep my checkbook balanced more often than I do (read: almost never).
I was nearly flinch-free when I saw another centipede days later this time while I was lying in bed reading. I had a good view of him, since he was directly over me on the ceiling. I don't think I've ever scrambled out of bed so fast.
Suddenly the tall ceilings in my apartment weren't so charming to 5'2'' me. Even standing on a stool, I couldn't get good aim and reach (once I mustered the nerve) to squash the bug. Looking around for weapons, I stumbled upon my sponge mop. Perfect! Amidst squeals and a mantra of "I won't be intimidated by a bug," I used this modern-day spear to slay the squirmy beast. I thought victory was mine, until I went searching for a body. With no carcass to prove he was indeed dead, I started flinching again at the thought of this creepy-crawly exacting his revenge in the dark of the night when I was asleep and even more defenseless.
I admit it, I slept on the couch that night. The sleep was fitful not only because I was on the couch, but also because I was ashamed by the realization I was such a wuss.
When I awoke slightly stiff-necked the next morning, I knew things had to change. I needed to muster some guts and "take back" my apartment. I knew I couldn't remain terrorized by bugs until a hubby possibly rides up on a white steed to save me from these awful monsters.
Despite a visit from an exterminator (God bless my landlord for arranging this!), the bug population gave me ample opportunity to put my growing courage to the test. With each squashing of the five centipedes I've found since then (but who's counting?), I've become braver, bolder, and, dare I say, perhaps a little blood-thirsty. I may even have uttered, "You wanna piece of me?!" to the last centipede who had the audacity to darken the door of my home. I would never have guessed it, but a kick-butt bug-slayer has been born.
My surprise and pride at this new-found "skill" reminds me of the way I felt when I actually did my own taxes this past spring. Armed only with W-2s, my laptop computer, and access to TurboTax on the Web, I faced an even scarier villain: the IRS! Being a word-person, numbers are not my forte, but I was too ashamed to have my parents' tax man continue computing my return and too intimidated (and cheap!) to visit my local H&R Block. But after more hours than I care to admit, I finally e-mailed my return to Uncle Sam. When my checks arrived in the mail a couple weeks later, I was so proud of this accomplishment I treated myself to a Frappucino (which pretty much exhausted my state return!).
In a similar fashion, I've watched my single friends stumble onto hidden abilities, courage, and talents mainly because they've had to. They've fixed toilets, set up retirement plans, become skilled cooks and gardeners, bought houses and later refinanced them, and traveled all by themselves. And though some of these solo accomplishments have been made begrudgingly, the resulting pride and confidence is always sure and strong. I'm beginning to think that whoever said, "Necessity is the mother of invention," was single. Without spouses and kids to compensate for and balance out our weaknesses, at times we've had to do this tough work ourselves invent the needed skills and courage, so to speak. One might even say we've had the privilege of doing this work, and making these self discoveries on our own.
I'm trying to remember this with each solo challenge I face whether big or small. That, and the fact that these challenges are never truly solo as God is always there with us equipping, applauding, encouraging, and, on occasion, probably chuckling. These realizations might not stop me from running from the room screaming at first. But once I stop shaking in my shoes, I hope I'll see the chance to discover hidden talents and reinvent a braver, broader-horizoned me. And slay my fears like so many centipedes.
Blessings!
Camerin Courtney
Camerin welcomes your feedback and brainstorms at:
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