In the Dark Basement Lair, No One Can Hear You Scream

Yesterday I ran to town for my 44 oz Diet Coke (and by ran, I mean I sat my ample rumpus comfortably on T-Hoe's leather seat and drove the five miles there and back) and then retired to my dark basement lair for an afternoon of internet and soda-sipping. Hick was around somewhere, busy not-repairing one of his tractors that he'd needed for unloading a shipment of lights he had lucked into when his workplace was throwing them away.

It was getting towards 4:00 when I noticed a tickle on my scalp. Kind of an itch. I scratched the area midway between my left ear and the back of my head. Then I felt it again, so I scratched again. But my scalp was not satisfied. I rubbed my fingers on it up under the hair. I didn't feel a bite or scab or tangle. But sometimes, you know, if you have longish hair (or if you HAVE hair) a few strands might get entwined crosswise. They would be caught up in brush bristles if you use a brush, but Val uses a pick that has wide teeth, to give her limp hair some lift.

I spread out my middle three fingers and pulled them away from my head, stretching out my dark tresses. Aha! That was it. I could feel a few strands draped across the backs of my fingers. Out of the corner of my eye, as I pulled my hand away from my head, I saw a dark area on my fingers. Huh. I must have had a matted piece of hair there, like My Sister the Li'l Future Ex-Mayor's Wife had, when she was a kid. Only her hair was orangy-red, and all ratted up in knots, not my dark brown hair that is now courtesy of L'Oreal, and pulls right away from the other strands.

The hairwad must have had static. Gravity did not cause it to fall when I tilted my hand. The hairwad came off as I scraped my hand along the edge of the metal tray sitting at my left elbow at my v-shaped countertop corner desk. I use the tray to carry down my lunch or lottery tickets or mail that I need to make a phone call about. I was in the middle of a YouTube slot machine video on my New Delly, and glanced briefly to see how big a hairwad I had been harboring all morning.

It was not a hairwad.

IT WAS A FREAKIN' WOOD BEE!!!

HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! Uh huh. That's what I yelled. Pretty much.

It was not a happy wood bee. It turned from its back to its feet, and started lumbering toward my arm. CRAP CRAP CRAP! HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! What am I gonna do NOW?

I grabbed a folded paper towel and squished it around the wood bee. Really squeezed. Heard a crunch. WHEW! THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE! I moved it to the right side of my desk, considering what I was going to do with it. Put it in the wastebasket? Take it upstairs and throw it outside? Flush it?

Of course I peeked inside.

THE WOOD BEE WAS NOT DEAD! It was the UNDEAD! Crawling as if I had not just crunched it inside that paper towel. It hadn't even slowed down. HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! That thing wouldn't die! And then...and then...I thought to myself

HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! This could be a blog post!

Uh huh. I always hear Genius in my head, "Pics or it didn't happen." I don't know why that boy is so distrustful of people.

In the meantime, the wood bee was getting loose. That crunch had not even slowed it down. I grabbed my phone and tried to get a picture before that behemoth climbed onto me again.

I know, right? That thing is honkin' GINORMOUS!

What to do, what to do? HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! I grabbed that wood bee with the paper towel again. Squeezed some more. Heard more crunch. I hurried out to the bottom of the stairs and hollered for Hick. "Are you there? Are you up there? Hello? I need help!" He wasn't even in the house! How's THAT for guy who only works three days a week? He's never there when I need him! (I found out later he was bobbing around in Poolio without a care in the world, while I was threatened by this deadly beast.) NOW what?

Flush it! Flush it! Yes! That's it. Flush it down the toilet in the NASCAR bathroom right next to my office. Wait a minute. I couldn't flush that paper towel. It was a Bounty! The quicker picker-upper! I leaned over the toilet and yanked open the paper towel for the wood bee to fall to its watery grave.

HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! Nothing there! Nothing there! No wood bee in the toilet! Where WAS the wood bee? Where? Where? Hanging from the bottom of the paper towel with its freakish hairy legs holding on with a death grip!

I tried shaking the paper towel. Nope. Those leg hairs are surprisingly efficient. That wood bee would NOT come loose. HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! How was I gonna get rid of this monster? I tried dragging the paper towel along the edge of the toilet seat. HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! What if that wood bee got up under the toilet seat, and I didn't see it, and I flushed that paper towel, and thought it was gone? Yeah. No way was I flushing that paper towel.

I slung the paper towel area holding the wood bee hard against the side of the seat, and scraped. YES! Into the drink he went! I flushed. HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! That wood bee would NOT go down without a fight! He was crawling up the slope at the front of the bowl! With water cascading down the slope and sluicing around him! Did he have suction cup feet, too? How was that even possible? If only we had more water pressure in the basement toilet. Like pressure from a fire hydrant. That might work!

I flushed again. HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! This thing might just make it to the top and crawl out! No way was I reaching down in the toilet to grab it again. Wait a minute! Come on...come on...YES! There he went, down into the swirling vortex, where he appeared to swim laps! Round and round and FINALLY! Out he went with the last of the water!

That was a close one. Even today, I'm kind of afraid when I sit down on that toilet.

HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP! This pterodactyl-size critter WAS IN MY HAIR. Maybe for a couple of hours. Dog-shiver! I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have PTSD over this.