“Well, go and see what that is. Do you think something fell?” (me)
“No, that didn’t sound like a fall.” (him)
My husband got up, turned on the hall light and walked into the kitchen. He turned on the kitchen light … then I heard him scream and shout.
“Holy SHIT! Oh my $%#@ing god!” (him)
“Are you okay?!” I yelled from the bed. “What do you see?” At this moment I thought, for sure, we had an intruder in our house. I mean what else warrants such a response?
“There’s a huge $%#@ing bat in our house!” (him)
“A bat? That’s it? The way you reacted, I thought there might be a man with an ax in there. Okay, well just get a broom, open a door and guide it out.” (me)
“Well, how am I supposed to get it out?!” (him)
“I just told you.” (me)
Silence. Not even a peep from the pugs, they were too busy getting their beauty sleep and can’t be bothered with such events as a bat in the house. Divas.
Finally, after what seems to be about 10 minutes, my husband emerges from the office. “Well, the Internet said to get rid of a bat, that you need to open a door and guide it out with a broom.”
“No shit. I just told you that like 15 minutes ago. Why are you not doing it?!” (me)
“Okay, I’m going to do it. But I should probably put on a shirt, in case the bat tries to claw or bite me.” (him)
“What?! It’s not going to claw at you. Jesus Christ. Do you need me to help do this?” (me)
“Maybe, yes, you better.” (him)
“Fine,” I snorted back. (Notice I don’t put this off by getting on the Internet or putting a shirt on … I already had one on, but that is beside the point.)
The pugs are still sleeping. Jerks.
I go into the kitchen and do not see this giant bat. According to my husband’s description and finger measurement, the bat looked something like this. He can be a bit of an exaggerator at times. Fact.
“Do you see the bat? I can’t find it.” (him)
“Did you look in the other rooms,” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. So naturally I double-checked.
There was no bat on a wall or flying around anywhere. We checked the floor, the recycling bag, some pots, nothing. I happened to look across the kitchen at our microwave and see something on top of it. I asked my husband if that was the bat.
He said it was not, because that was way “too small,” remember, the bat he saw was a monster you guys. It was probably just a piece of plastic. The $%#@? A piece of plastic?! Now my eyes are shit, so I trolled on over closer and repeated, “I think that might be the bat. It looks furry.”
So my husband came closer and in his best Charlie Day voice screeched, “That’s the bat! That’s the bat!”
Apparently the bat committed suicide in our kitchen. My husband always turns off the kitchen fan when we go to sleep; I like to turn it back on. It’s a fun game we play. That night, I sneaked it back on. But, after this bat, I’m sure my husband will never turn it off again, otherwise we might still have that little dude flying around our house. Anyway, due to watching hours of Law & Order, I’m an expert at solving crimes/mysteries: I concluded that the bat decided to come creep on us after flying in through the back door that I had left it open to wrangle the pugs, but he wasn’t paying attention and flew into the fan. The fan knocked it out so hard — across the kitchen — that it killed it.
My husband grabbed the grill tongs and a plastic bag. He reached for the bat and exclaimed, “If this thing moves or is still alive, that will end my life.” Things with him escalate quickly, non?
With the bat (RIP) removed from our house, we could finally go back to sleep, at 5 a.m. This little escapade took much longer than it should have. If I were in charge and found the bat, 15 minutes later we would’ve been back in bed and asleep.
You see, last time a bat entered a house, Beeps Baum and I removed it with no problems. When my husband and I were still living apart and dating, we came back to his town home one night and there was a bat flying around his living room. He took one look at it and ran upstairs to the bathroom yelling, “Sorry, have to go. Can you get it out?”
I calmly grabbed a broom and a pug, opened the front door, and 10 minutes later, the bat was gone. As soon as I yelled to my not-yet-husband that I got it out of the house, he suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs and goes, “Okay, let me get the bat out.” REALLY!!??!? He swears he didn’t hear me, but to this day I beg to differ, and I feel that how he reacted to the most recent bat almost guarantees that he did hear me and is terrified of them.
Never again is my husband allowed to make fun of my massive fear of snakes, because what a baby, he’s scared of a BAT. And a dead one at that.
Kacie Baum is a professional partier, mother of two pugs, and the wife of Matt Baum. She tolerates the constant presence of the Two-Headed Nerd in her home each week. She did not write this bio. Pre-THN entries of Girl Meets Nerd can be found here.