“David, why are you talking to me about bats. Is there a bat in our house?”
“Sweetie, I was just giving you a tip I thought about today. You know. No need to panic if you do happen to see a bat.”
“Is there a bat nest in the tree outside our door?”
“Laura. You’re over reacting. I was just talking about bats.”
Yeah right. I go to the door to check the stairwell for bats. I return to the kitchen and explain to David that I don’t care what he’s read in whatever bat magazine he reads. Bats dive bomb me. Bats in Africa dive bomb me. Bats on lakes dive bomb me. Bats in caves fly straight toward me. My life experience does not match his reading. I’m going with my experience. I maintain a hatred of bats. Yes, a fear of bats. I cover my head when they are around. I’ve heard they can get tangled in your hair. I forcefully explain this to David.
He eventually confesses to me that when he went out of the stairwell door to go to the game he happened to glance back through the windows he saw, to his amazement, a bat flying around in our stairwell. It eventually landed on our neighbor’s door décor – a pink stocking. He, knowing that I could not be far behind, picked up the stocking and flung the bat outside onto the porch. When it looked like it was going to fly back inside, he went after it with a broom.
Today when we went home for lunch my first response to the stairwell was to look up and in crevices. David rolled his eyes and sighed. He thinks perhaps I’m going to be dramatic about bats now. Me?