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Jul. 19th, 2006
Balance comes with many legs
Jul. 19th, 2006 12:28 pmFerrett has never made any bones about his terror of spiders. He suffers a deep arachnophobia that causes even tiny specimens to incite terror. I, on the other hand, though no great fan of loose arachnids, can face them and dispatch them with calm detachment.
Meaning that I was the Brave Spider Killer in our household and he was the Girly-Screaming Victim standing on a chair.
Now, as we are not subject to regular spider invasions, these roles are not regularly taken up on our parts. But when they are, it's hard not to sense the balance of competency shifting slightly in my favor. The smaller the spider, the larger the shift.
It's nothing that either of us intend; it's instinctual - the rescuer must be stronger than the rescuee. And despite my assurances that, really, it meant nothing...well, it meant something. Ferrett felt self-conscious about it. I had to repress a sense of smugness. It was a small thing, but it was out of balance. The yin and yang lacked harmony.
This year, harmony arrived. In the form of 1" to 3" long, millipede-like creatures with long legs and antennae and almost no body structure. They look like writhing rib cages, scuttling along the walls.
They freak the shit outta me.
8 legs, I can deal with. Caterpillars and centipedes, I can deal with. These frail, alien-looking creatures? Not so much. In fact, not at all.
So Ferrett gets to be the hero now, and kill bugs for me. Including today, when, after taking the first half of an all-day simulated MBE, I decided to take a hot bath to deal with the muscle tension between my shoulders. I drew the bath, climbed in, settled back with a book and read for a while. Then I put the book down.
And realized I was sharing the tub with one of those creatures. It was floating in the water, only inches from my leg.
This one was only an inch or so long - which is the only reason I did not levitate, screaming, from the tub. I slipped out, wrapped a towel around myself, and called down the hall:
"Honey? Can you rescue me? One of those bugs was in the tub with me!"
My white knight came forth, and when he looked into the tub (as I was cowering in the hallway), he scoffed, "That thing?--" And then he stopped. "Naw, it's huge!" he added in a tone that really tried to hide the patronizing. He slew my dragon, and I gave him a kiss.
And felt better. Because, honestly, I should have been able to deal with the bug. If he wasn't here, I would have dealt with the bug - just as he deals with spiders when I am not around. But you know, it's nice to know that there is someone who will chase off the scaries for you.
And to know that you can do the same for them.
Meaning that I was the Brave Spider Killer in our household and he was the Girly-Screaming Victim standing on a chair.
Now, as we are not subject to regular spider invasions, these roles are not regularly taken up on our parts. But when they are, it's hard not to sense the balance of competency shifting slightly in my favor. The smaller the spider, the larger the shift.
It's nothing that either of us intend; it's instinctual - the rescuer must be stronger than the rescuee. And despite my assurances that, really, it meant nothing...well, it meant something. Ferrett felt self-conscious about it. I had to repress a sense of smugness. It was a small thing, but it was out of balance. The yin and yang lacked harmony.
This year, harmony arrived. In the form of 1" to 3" long, millipede-like creatures with long legs and antennae and almost no body structure. They look like writhing rib cages, scuttling along the walls.
They freak the shit outta me.
8 legs, I can deal with. Caterpillars and centipedes, I can deal with. These frail, alien-looking creatures? Not so much. In fact, not at all.
So Ferrett gets to be the hero now, and kill bugs for me. Including today, when, after taking the first half of an all-day simulated MBE, I decided to take a hot bath to deal with the muscle tension between my shoulders. I drew the bath, climbed in, settled back with a book and read for a while. Then I put the book down.
And realized I was sharing the tub with one of those creatures. It was floating in the water, only inches from my leg.
This one was only an inch or so long - which is the only reason I did not levitate, screaming, from the tub. I slipped out, wrapped a towel around myself, and called down the hall:
"Honey? Can you rescue me? One of those bugs was in the tub with me!"
My white knight came forth, and when he looked into the tub (as I was cowering in the hallway), he scoffed, "That thing?--" And then he stopped. "Naw, it's huge!" he added in a tone that really tried to hide the patronizing. He slew my dragon, and I gave him a kiss.
And felt better. Because, honestly, I should have been able to deal with the bug. If he wasn't here, I would have dealt with the bug - just as he deals with spiders when I am not around. But you know, it's nice to know that there is someone who will chase off the scaries for you.
And to know that you can do the same for them.
