Random Esquire

I bring home the bacon. I pay the bills. I do the driving. I even do the cooking.

But I do not, will not, kill bugs.

I do not know why bugs, in particular, make me want to dance on my tip toes. I am not afraid to admit that if I see a bug, I will hollar for Boss and jump up and down until she has taken care of the situation. She can actually cover a bug with a kleenex and squeeze it dead and throw it in the trash. All without screaming. She is an amazing woman, no?

What is particularly interesting about this is that it is one of the few times when I have absolutely no interest in maintaining anything close to a tight grip on reality. What makes that so interesting is that I used to kill bugs when I lived alone. I just…did it. Is this what happens when you date someone? They pick up the slack in those areas where you would just honestly prefer a meltdown of sorts? Because, I think if I’m being completely honest with myself, I don’t even care that it makes me sound wussy.

Hmm. I just reread this. Maybe I care a little that it makes me sound wussy.