I’m not going to lie to you; I still think about it. All the time, actually. I can only get around it when I’m in another state. At home, no matter the season, I’m always on high alert, certain a scorpion will try to have his way with me. The times where I’ve actually been traveling, I always return home only to ask the house-sitter to fess up. "Come on, how many scorpions did you find while I was gone?" I actually don’t expect them to answer and instead think I’ll be greeted with a peculiar look.
Norma was saving the scorpions for her thirteen-year-old son, and today, when I made a wrong turn driving, and twisted my face while simultaneously giving the finger to my GPS, I happened to make, what she called, "The Scorpion Face." What? "Yes, Miss Stephanie, you are very funny. I remember the face you a make when I show you the scorpion. You use your tongue. I like it. I told my husband."
Phil slammed it with my shoe, and I walked with him to the bathroom, asking that he please forgo the trashcan and flush it away. "The whole reason I saw it was because I had to pee. I still have to pee."
"So go pee."
"No way! I can’t pee until you flush it!" Like I’m really going to sit while looking at the body of a scorpion between my legs?
Now, each and every time I enter the bathroom, I have to turn on the lights, even if it’s in the middle of the night. I check the sheets, every last shoe, and shake the towel from it’s hook before drying myself off. I am terrified I’ll find another one in my bed one day. I once found one, ALIVE, darting around in a make-up drawer! I can’t take it.
Ironically enough, today I’m wearing a lobster print skirt (it’s quite cute actually), very Fourth of July, and I now totally get why Jews won’t eat shellfish. Lobsters are the cockroaches of the sea, and they’re most certainly a cousin twice removed from the scorpion.