Remember my friend Hank? I thought we should talk about him again.
Since he lives stateside and I’m over here in merry ‘ol England, I chat with him on the phone pretty regularly. The last time I talked to him he was telling me a story that still gives me nightmares. And now I’m going to tell you. Because I clothe and feed this blog and I’m sending it to college and I can say what I want on here.
So we were talking and he just started casually telling me about how the other day while he was at this hotel (because he travels for work) an odd thing happened. He had gotten completely dressed and was eating breakfast when he felt something in his shoe. It was an odd sensation, he tells me, a sort of wiggling. Then he looked down and saw a head pop out around his sock. And then a bug crawled out and made a break for freedom. A live bug crawled out of his shoe. A live bug crawled out of his shoe. A live bug. Shoe.
When I bug crawls out of the shoe you’re wearing and walks away because it’s so hard core and bad – a** that you standing on it in a confined space for twenty minutes doesn’t phase it you don’t need to stay at that hotel again. EVER. Do what you’ve got to do to keep away from the place. Sleep in the rental car. Pitch a tent. Whatever you’ve gotta do.
That was my official advice to him. He told the story sort of nonchalantly, like it could happen to anyone and any time. If that is true, what kind of world do we live in? Tell me, is there no safety?
Because, as I screeched to Hank, if that happened to me I’d be killed dead on the spot. Deader than 80’s fashion. I’m not afraid of bugs but if a live one crawls out of anything I’m wearing life just isn’t worth living any more.
I think I just threw up on my mouth a little just telling you the story.
If you’ll excuse me.
PS: More about my precious parents later. I haven't had time to wrangle the photos yet. But since I talked to Hank today I thought I'd check in and keep you updated. Because I'm a good blogger that way.