adventures of a selective wimp

In my 33-years on this planet, I have been afraid of very little that can commonly cause squeamishness in my peers. Particularly my fellow FEMALE peers.

Mice? No worries.

Rats? They're just bigger mice.

Bats? Love them. Genuinely. I find bats fascinating, meek, sweet little critters.

I think we've already soundly established my abiding comfort level with possums. This extends to raccoons and the whole rest of the general "varmint" category (squirrels, gophers, rabbits, beavers, the occasional badger...)

Snails and slugs? Please.

Snakes? Well, the really poisonous ones don't live in California. And the one type of poisonous snake we have here has a loud rattle on the end of his tail. That's fairly easily avoidable.

Frogs, lizards, geckos and other assorted amphibians? I've been peed on by more than one grouchy froggie. And it is well known that when we visit Maui, I have known to keep our windows open all night to allow geckos to freely move in and out at will.

But there are two living things on this earth that will send me packing to the hills: sspiders and bees.

When we moved into this newly constructed house, we discovered that our dream home was built near established nesting grounds of a wonderful little deadly spider known as the Black Widow. That first hot summer, the unhappily displaced spiders swarmed around the perimeter of our house, effectively convincing me of two things. One, that spiders are totally capable of revenge. And two, that Motel Six looks increasingly outstanding when you are facing the lethal spider gauntlet of 2002. The official black widow death count for that horrifying summer of fear stands at 237.

Two hundred.

And thirty seven.

Spiders.

I don't care who you are, that's a lot of spiders. And even I didn't already have a well established fear of spiders (which, who are we kidding? spiders have just plain freaked me out since I learned what they were), that many deadly little crawly things running around my yard definitely sent me into shivering retreat.

And bees. Bees sting you. It's what they do, I'm convinced. They sneak up on you, think you're a flower to pollinate, get irked when you're not, and then sting you. Bees are mean. I sure do have respect for their place in the circle of life. As long as I am in the rectangle part while they are busy doing whatever they are doing over there in the circle. I have only been stung by a bee once - when I was five. I accidentally stepped on him and he let me know that was not going to fly. It was then that my allergy to bee stings was discovered. Thus, bees were added to my short list of things I do not play well with.

So we have established that I am not a gigantic wimp. Rather, I am a selective wimp. That is certainly respectable.

All this is to plead that the fact that when I encountered a black widow spider AND his buzzing bee entourage in my backyard this afternoon, which sent me running into the house at lightening speed while emitting a high-pitched squeal, that should been viewed with the appropriate level of respect. Because if I came across a cougar with snails, mice, and snakes on his back, that would have been fine. Weird, but fine. But a whompas black widow spider AND several big black buzzy bees basically constitute my personal critter apocalypse.

My children thought it was highly hilarious, chasing me and laughing. Disrespectful little boogers. But I happen to know that Miss Sauce has an avid fear of snakes, volcanoes, and the act of toilet flushing ~ which sends her into a complete panic. And my little one, Dash, is currently afraid of a vast array of things ranging from the opening credits of Peter Pan to the sound of the neighbor's truck warming up in the driveway. So neener, neener, neener.

Laugh at me, will ya?

Sheesh. Next time we go outside, I am betting my 2 and 5~year old children will have to comfort me. After they're done giggling, that is.