Nonetheless, as she reached toward a stack of towels to remove a bit of laundry lint, all of a sudden she was filled with terror. The piece of fluff she had grabbed at turned out to be a great, big, fat hairy moth. The poor little lepidoptera instantly realized the threat from the descending attack and launched itself into the air; zigzagging like a drunken motorist, right at Cupcake’s horrified face. She could not have looked more alarmed had it been a giant blood-sucking bat. The screaming was awful; eardrum piercing, shatter-cheap-crystal pitched, loud-enough-to-be-heard-in-a-nearby-galaxy-type screaming. To add to the spectacle, amid the shrill shrieks, she mangled her hairdo; slapping and clawing at her head.
Being the kind, caring, loving husband that I am, I began to laugh so hard I almost fell off the bed. I really wanted to help her and hold her and tell her everything was all right but that look on her face was so priceless, I couldn’t contain my mirth. I hadn't seen that wild a look in her eye since that time a giant dust-bunny blew across the living room floor and she thought it was the vanguard of a rat infestation. Unfortunately, I soon found out that only being a caring and supportive husband on the inside was of no value. I discovered that, not only should I not have laughed, but I should have taken measures to make sure moths could not enter our home EVER and that the whole incident was my fault.
"But sugar-lump," I said in astonishment, "you're the one who tried to catch him in the first place. If you'd just leave them alone, they will leave you alone. Oh yeah, that's bees, isn't it? But still, it's not like the moth was going to hurt you. They don't bite, you know. They have no stinger or teeth. They just barf on fabric to dissolve it then suck up the pre-digested mush. You don’t need teeth for that."
"I know moths don't sting," she raged, "but I'll have you know they lay eggs in your hair. And for your information, I wasn't trying to catch it. I thought I was picking up a piece of *&^% fluff."
I was shocked by her vocabulary as she usually saves that sort of language for bingo. I thought it best if I tried to lighten her mood with jocularity.
"Oh right," I laughed. "That’s a pretty tough environment to lay eggs in with all that yelling and hollering and whacking your head. Momma moth would have had to be pretty quick on her feet."
My attempt at humour was not warmly welcomed. Her eyes appeared murderous. She spat her answer through clenched teeth.
"It's not just the eggs but they leave that disgusting moth dust everywhere. If you were any kind of man you would have killed it instead of rolling on the floor laughing your fool head off."
I sighed and apologised for not coming to her rescue. I knew I had been a bad boy. There is something about moths that a lot of women have feelings for that mere hatred doesn’t come close to describing. As soon as a moth comes anywhere near the average female, their first reaction is to utter shrill shrieks and begin slapping themselves upside the head. I find it odd that so many ladies take great pains to put highlights in their hair knowing full well moths are attracted to light.
"Jeepers," I shook my head. "You should have seen how you carried on. What would you do if you were confronted with something really terrible?"
“You mean, like your attitude?” she bit back.
“Seriously, hon,” I tried to deflect her anger with a philosophical query. “If that is the reaction you give for something non-life threatening, how would you respond to a real danger?”
"I guess we’ll never know until it happens,” she responded grimly. “One thing I do know is that I wouldn’t be able to count on you to save me. You couldn’t even rescue me from a moth. Now get up and shut the light off on your way out. I’m having a nap. Alone. And just so you know, I will still have this tension headache tonight.” As I glumly complied, it occurred to me that moths are a lot more dangerous than I thought.
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