Thursday, February 14, 2008

(Mel Brooks fans will understand why I'm calling this post...) The Inquisition! Let's begin The Inqusition! Lookout sin!


Bobbi has gone out of town for a few days. So, it's just me and the kids for four days of excitement.

Two days before Bobby left we decided to hit the hot tub. Since moving into our new house the hot tub has become quite the refuge. There are some weeks in which the hot tub is as far away from the house as I get. It's like a little island oasis where we can sit, drink and look back at the house. I imagine it's much the same feeling a death-row inmate gets during his weekly one-hour trip to the yard.

So, we grabbed a couple of cocktails and headed out to the hot water. Naturally, I'm hoping for some freakiness in the hot tub. I mean, let's be real, Bobbi is about to leave town for four days and she's got to be feeling a little guilty about it. This makes for a prime opportunity for me to ride that guilt straight down the freaky highway. Life is short, take what you can get.... that's what I always say.

Things were going okay until Bobbi noticed a worm in the pool.

Not in the hot tub, in the pool.

In the bottom of the pool.

And it was still moving.

Now, my wife will hire an exterminator if she sees an ant in the street on the off chance that it might make a beeline for the house. But a worm in the bottom of the pool? This was cause for action. Not action by Bobbi of course, action by me. (Married men will recognize this phenomanon as the "action-transference equation wherein "we" = "you"" In short, when a wife says, "We have to do something," what she means is, 'You have to do something." For example: "We have to paint the bedroom.")
"There's a worm in the pool," she said.
"Well, it's been raining and sometimes the worms get washed up."
"We should get it out," she said. (the ATE)
"Listen, it's cold, I'm naked, and I'm not going to get out of the hot tub so I can scoop a worm off the bottom of the pool."

Well, needless to say, the worm soon became the focus of most of Bobbi's attention, not me, which had been my hope when heading out to the hot tub in the first place.

"It's starting to shit itself," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"Look, it's starting to shit itself."
Sure enough, there were now little bits of worm shit on the bottom of the pool as well.
Here's where things started to really get interesting.
"Bobbi," I said, "don't look to your right because you aren't going to like what you see."
Now, in addition to a worm in its death throes shitting itself on the bottom of the pool there was a mouse swimming across the surface.
"Oh my God, we've got to save it," she said. (again, the ATE)

Let me be clear. I might have been able to get past the worm. There's a chance that I could have gotten Bobbi to drink enough that she would ignore this water-tortured invertabrate long enough to grace me with her wicked ways. But a live mouse swimming around on the surface of the pool like it's in some vermin Esther Williams musical could not be ignored. So, I got out of the pool and, naked, used the pool net to scoop out the mouse and toss him outside of the screen enclosure. Then, I got back in the hot tub and proceeded on my previous course of trying to get some good good lovin from my wife.

After we were done, Bobby scooped out the worm. I mean, we're not barbarians.

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