PlazaJen: Passion Knit

We had big, blustery, tornado-threatening storms in Kansas City last night. No matter which tv station you turned to, everyone's version of the Doppler featured RED, in vast quantities. Loads of rain. After most of it passed through, we let the dogs out before going to bed, and James walked around, noting all the bits of oak branches that had blown down. Then, he stopped & said, "Hand me that dustpan in there." I handed him our bright red, heavy metal dustpan. He proceeds to squash a slug. EEEWWWWW. But hey, I'm not a fan of slugs, and even though I'd rather kill them kindly with a shallow pan of beer, when one is stupid enough to slither right in front of the front door, it's going to have to tackle the killer who is the JWo.

So, we got to bed late, I'm up at 6:30, sleepy, contemplating going back to bed after I let the dogs out. Polly LOVE LOVE LOVES to get the paper. You can get her wound up inside just by saying, "Paper?" So she comes trotting up and I missed grabbing it from her mouth & it fell on the doormat. No biggie, let's all get back in the house, no treats today for getting the paper, because I studied that Skinner dude back in my first psychology lab, and treats given randomly for learned behavior actually encourage more of the behavior than regular, expected treats. Ok! And there's a mini psych lesson for you on this Thursday. So I take the plastic wrapper off the paper, squashing the end of it on my stomach, and toss the plastic, sort the paper & head to the bathroom with the funnies. I read all the funnies, (love me that Bucky Katz!) and just as I'm about to poooossibly go right back and sleep another half an hour, I suddenly feel that my nightgown feels all wet on my thigh.
Huh? I haven't wet the bed in 32 years. I reach down to pull it up & examine? And my hand brings me a GIANT FUCKING BLACK SLUG that had apparently been on the bottom of the paper bag, and he spent those five minutes with me, smearing his slow steady way across my nightshirt until he hit my thigh.

I screamed.

JWo, Killer of the Slugs, did not even wake up. The slug is now on the bathroom floor, because along with screaming, there was flinging, and mind racing, and much of the flipping out.

Now, I don't know about you, but this slug encounter now had me more awake than 13 cups of coffee. And while I guess slugs are part of the universe to break down matter and all? I cannot deal with them on my body. Pardon me while I stop to itch all the hair that has stood up on my head while I've re-lived this experience.

So, I'm not fond of smushing anything with a dustpan, and besides, it was three rooms away. Not that the slug was traveling anywhere at a high rate of speed, but he had made his way across a couple of tiles while I tried to collect myself. So I did what any other woman would do: Enormous wad of toilet paper, to shield the hand from feeling too much, and a darting grab, and a flush, and voila! Slug No More. In more water than he can enjoy. eeeeeesh.

I had to strip down & take a hot shower immediately, of course. It had touched my skin in two places! I tried just washing my hands, but then I saw the slimy slug trail all across the front of my nightshirt, and I flipped out again. I have a whole new level of admiration for my girlfriend Sheila, who lives in Seattle, and has told me how she'll go on slug patrol, picking them off plants, etc. - and they're BIG out there. I just can't handle bugs, inverterbrates, spiders, whatever the hell category, if they're bigger than, say, a quarter. Things that are as big or bigger than one of my fingers? Sweet lord in heaven, step back, because I'm gonna yelp.

All I can say is, slugs better not be the new bat for me, plaguing me with reoccurring terror. I will start packin' kosher salt, and I'm not afraid to use it.