I am exhausted today. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and it wasn’t because I went out and got drunk, it wasn’t because I was up all night reading a good book, it wasn’t because I spent 4 hours on the phone with Pete while he told me how fabulous I am, it was because there was a bat in my kitchen last night. We aren’t really sure how he got in, but it was quite a production to get him out.
Wait. WHAT? Did I just gloss over that and make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe, to be more accurate I should write it like this:
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD THERE WAS A FUCKING BAT IN MY FUCKING KITCHEN LAST NIGHT! Because that was totally how I reacted to it. And I was alone, so I couldn’t really do anything about it except stand there, gaping, and freak the fuck out.
Now listen, y’all. I’m not really the kind of person who freaks out over animals (except snakes), since I grew up out in the woods and strange creatures in the house weren’t really all that big of a deal. Bugs don’t scare me, birds don’t make me nervous, and I’m generally not one of those squealy girls who gets all worked up when, say, your cat comes into your living room with a writing, horrified chipmunk in her mouth, looks at you, and then drops it so it goes screaming all over your house and you have to take you couch out of the room so you can trap it with a broom and a Tupperware bowl. Or, you know, something like that (because that obviously never happened. ahem). Situations like that I can handle (Well, once in Texas a Javelina looked at me funny and got all bristly and that freaked me out, but that doesn’t happen very frequently). But a bat is a different story, ESPECIALLY WHEN IT IS IN MY KITCHEN. And just 2 days ago I was watching something on the news about how we had 12 reported cases of rabies in Charleston County this year! So now I’m pretty sure that I had a Rabid Bat in my kitchen.
So after I stand there horrified for a minute and realize that no, Taylor, you aren’t hallucinating, I pace around in my hallway muttering to myself: whatdoido? whatdoido? and self says: Call your mom! She lives in the country!
*ring ring ring*
Me: MOM OH MY GOD THERE IS A BAT IN MY KITCHEN WHAT DO I DO PLEASE FOR THE LOVE COME AND HELP ME AND SAVE ME FROM A CERTAIN DEATH OF HYDROPHOBIA AND STOMACH SHOTS!
Mom: Who is this?
(No, I kid! She knew me!)
Mom: (who, impossibly at this point seems calm and rational because DOES SHE NOT REALIZE that there is a BAT in my KITCHEN and I am alone with no one to save me?) Yeah, this happens to us all the time. Just throw a towel over it and take it outside.
Me: Yes! OK! I have towels, I can throw a towel (I think?)!
Mom: Good luck!
At which point I hang up the phone. I have, prior to this, shut the kitchen door so that the bat is trapped in there (Me = Smart!) so I pick up a towel and gently crack open the door and peek in. I can’t see him anywhere, but just looking in there makes me freak out again BECAUSE I KNOW HE CAN SEE ME AND HE IS JUST WAITING UNTIL I COME IN AND HE WILL SWOOP DOWN AND GNAW ON MY FACE! Shut up. Bats do that.
And then the phone rings! And it’s Pete! He’ll come save me (or at least talk me down).
Pete: Hey babe, just wanted to let you know I’m out with the guys tonight so I may not call you later….
Me: OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT THERE IS A BAT IN MY KITCHEN. YOU HAVE GOT TO COME SAVE ME! I’M FREAKING OUT!
Pete: (You fool girl. I live 995 miles away, what do you think I’m going to do?)
Pete: Ok, you need to get a towel and throw it over him then take him outside and let him go.
Me: (why does everyone keep saying this to me?)
Me: YOU’RE MY BOYFRIEND! YOU HAVE TO COME SAVE ME.
Pete: Well, hon, I’m in Boston right now, so you’re going to need to give me about 19 hours.
Me: But I’ll be a gnawed-up mess by then! You won’t love me if I’m covered in tiny bat bites!
Pete: You can do this. It isn’t as hard as you think it is. He’s as scared of you as you are of him.
Me: Oh really? Is he shitting his little bat pants right now as we speak? Because that’s what I’m on the verge of doing.
(alright, I didn’t actually say that. But wouldnt’ it have been funny if I did?!)
Me (In actuality): Ok, you’re right. I can do this! I’m awesome! I grew up in the woods! This little pansy-ass bat has nothing on me! I’ll call you later, Darling!
Pete: Good luck!
At which point I firmly close the door to the kitchen and go back to watching So You Think You Can Dance. That damn bat can wait, but the Paso Double cannot.
So maybe at this point you are thinking: Hey, don’t you have a roommate? Where was she all this time? Well, my roommate, who should have been home saving me, was at her niece’s dance recital, which is crazy because DON’T THEY KNOW THERE IS A BAT IN MY KITCHEN AND I NEED HER HERE HELPING ME. Those little 7 year-old ballerinas can wait, y’all.
I call her to freak out, but no answer. She texts me back a moment later that she is still in the recital. What’s going on?
I say: FUCKING BAT IN OUR HOUSE. I need your help.
She says: What?! In the house!?
I say: Yes! In Kitchen! Freaking out.
She says: Almost done here, Be home soon.
HOORAY! Because Leezle is a big, tough Lesbian! And if she can’t save me from a bat, no one can!
(To be continued!…In part two, in which I realize the benefits of paying taxes.)