It was a typical week night. We are t-minus one Netflix episode of something from going to bed…which translates into me on the couch researching some falconry related thing, online, and Bruce in his chair, researching some woodworking thing, online. TV, for us, has become less entertainment, more stopwatch, as of late. Our pursuits of hobby are so refined, laser focused and researched that even if we could find topical shows on our interests, we’d probably spend the entire show debunking the “experts”.
As I split my attention between skimming a falconry forum discussion and scratching the belly of a snoring dog on my lap, I casually hear my husband mumble something over the drone of the TV.
“There’s a bat in the house.”
I catch the whir of something dark making a lap around the fireplace, through the living room and around into the kitchen.
Me: “A bat?”
Him: “A bat.”
I slowly slide the computer from my lap, search for the remote to pause the TV and hand my husband the ice cream cone I was eating. “Let me get my gloves.”
I disappear into the laundry room and return one minute later wearing a pair of leather gloves. “Where do you think he went?”
Still researching stuff online from his chair, my husband directs me to the look in the kitchen, as that is where he thinks he saw the bat land. As luck would have it, the bat is sitting perfectly in the sink when I turn on the light. I scoop up the bat and walk to the back porch. The hubby opens the back porch door; I walk out and release the bat outside into the night.
Sweet freedom, once more, dear bat friend.
I return to the couch and attempt to retrieve my ice cream from my husband, only to find that my hubby not only finished my ice cream cone while I was catching bats, but procured another ice cream cone from the freezer and has started munching on that cone, as well. It is at this point in the evening that I become agitated and raise my voice.
“You ATE my ice cream??? SERIOUSLY! And then, got another? And didn’t get me one????”
So, you know your normal is SLIGHTLY different than most people’s when removing a bat from your living room is second nature, trivial really… but someone eating your ice cream cone pushes you over the freaking edge.