I cannot embrace its many legs, multiple eyeballs, and parts that go "chomp."
I mean, if I go to a zoo and spot a furry tarantula... or an armored scorpion... or a local politician campaigning... I examine it there behind three inches of glass or perhaps surrounded by bodyguards, and think:
"Cool! You are interesting to observe, my friend. You stay there in your contained area, and I will remain here. And all will be both hunky and dory."
Not so was the case last week in my bathroom.
Lightly-caffeinated one morning, I entered this room of revitalization for a refreshing shower. And no sooner was I about to step into the tub, unclad and distinctly vulnerable, when-- from some dimly-lit corner of the room-- charged this giant, multi-legged freak of nature. One undoubtedly spawned from years of sewage, radiation, Pixxy-Stixx and half-eaten Twinkies.
I leapt back to let it pass, but this was apparently not good enough for its nefarious intents. No, it needed more.
It was going to start with the bathroom, yes. Then it was going to conquer the house... the block... the city... and possibly take a flight to Japan so it could really get cracking on Tokyo.
Y'know, like the Monstering-For-Morons: How To Stomp a City Real Good manuals tell 'em.
Okay-- sure, he'd probably get delayed in security, given all of the legs with explosive shoe potential. But I doubted he'd be deterred-- just a little petulant by baggage claim.
So when I moved out of Bugzilla's way, did it thank me for the courtesy? Did it show me its FastPass?
No. It decided to charge at me.
Yes, friends, it let out a mighty roar, reared up on 500 of its hind legs, shot morning breath of fire and Liquid Plumber, and ran straight at me.
And me, I did The Naked Mile in under five seconds.
I searched frantically around for something to barricade it. Something to stop it in its fleet-footed, galloping tracks. And that's when I spotted it. The metal lid to the container that holds extra toilet paper!
Wham! went the lid (which proportionately is, of course, seven stories high and flame resistant).
"RAWWWR!" echoed the enraged monstrosity from its dark chamber, shaking 300 angry fists.
I sighed, and sunk to the floor. Phew! Crisis averted...
See, a good shower does wonders for the ol' attitude. With some happy suds and good hot water, the trauma of my battle with the mutant beast from the netherworld swirled from my memory and down, down the drain of the past.
I got ready for work.
And I forgot all about my plans to slide some cardboard under its confinement cell and release Bugzilla back into the wild, far far away from my own personal self.
Here I should mention, I have a housemate that shares the facilities.
Yes, it was evening by the time I saw the friend who rents from me. As she was headed into the bathroom, I glanced at her retreating back and something sharp jabbed my memory.
Wasn't there something I was supposed to tell her? Wasn't there something fairly important that she should know?
She was mid-toothpaste-on-brush when my recollection kicked in, and I rudely busted in to her moment of Aquafresh and meditation.
"AGH! Don't lift that metal lid!" I shouted, pointing at said item on the floor.
She glanced from it to me with a single eyebrow raised, and the same expression she gave me the time she caught me making a Great Escape episode starring Marshmallow Peeps.
"I noticed that earlier," she said calmly.
Yes, it was the Marshmallow Peeps tone again. A friend who knows you're inclined to set Easter candy up for an action picture photoshoot, pretty much knows to expect weirdness as a part of the rental contract.
I explained the incident of the morning. The terror, the running legs (some of them not even mine), and pointed out the scorch marks on the tile walls.
And with this, that brave girl... That battler of underworld demons... That Buffy the Bugslayer who I call 'friend,' she grabbed a tissue, lifted that lid and...
The battle was simply too ugly to describe.
But suffice it to say, the house... the block... Pittsburgh... and even Tokyo...
Has been saved.
At least, until next time, good readers. At least, until next time.
Question for today: Is there any part of the animal kingdom that completely freaks you out? And why... why must they always charge us? What's that about?