Two Things: (1) Overcoming Entomophobia and (2) Protecting Boy Parts

I used to have a huge fear of bugs, especially spiders. ESPECIALLY spiders. I was the kind who would scream and wave my hands around and get all upset if I saw a tiny spider on the ceiling. I would thoroughly disinfect the bathtub if a spider was in it before me. "Oh, Greg! There's a spider, come kill it! AHHHhh!"

I was cured by a single line given by a mother character in an Orson Scott Card book. To paraphrase, there's a bug, the woman squashes it in front of her son and husband and the son is surprised she didn't get hysterical and make dad or him take care of it. The mom throws a sarcastic, "What do you think I do when your not here, run around screaming, 'AAH BUG!'?"

That was an epiphany for me and since then I have worked hard to not be a stupid screamy baby girl about bugs. They are, after all, just bugs. Tiny, little, mostly harmless insects. Now, I OFTEN allow bugs to crawl on me for the entertainment of my boy children. I let a spider live under my food shelves in my old dankerous basement apartment because he caught the ants before the ants got up to my food. I have even allowed a Daddy-Long-Legs crawl on me and captured a wasp in a Tupperware container. These things would have seemed beyond impossible to the me of 10-15 years ago.

The only drawback to my new bravery is I absolutely have no patience for grown women and men who still suffer from entomophobia. It seems like the stupidest waste of time and energy in the universe. Just kill it or leave it alone, it's JUST a bug. Even my husband's fear of bees and wasps, I just want to mock him. I suppose the true test of my success needs to be a trip to a pet store for the holding of a tarantula. That idea causes a slight bit of discomfort to me, but I will put it on my list of things to do.

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Next - in response to LiteralDan's blog (sidebar link) touching on the subject of small children repeatedly hitting their father's "happy spots." I left a comment generally mocking men in general. He said something to the effect of I (brandy roth) have no sympathy! Ironic, my husband often OFTEN says the same thing about me. I am sympathetic! I am a very sympathetic person. But if I stubbed my toe every morning on the dresser, I would MOVE the dresser, not whine about the pain, every bloody day! If I had a wanker and it had been the target of continual, daily abuse, I would have LONG ago developed a system of self-protection. Cups aren't comfortable, he says. Well, what about crotch shots, you like that feeling? My husband allows himself to be vulnerable and seems shocked every time a small child jumps on him and an errant knee or elbow or toy finds his target.

I don't know, either it doesn't hurt THAT bad (you big bunch of whiny babies!) or do something. Why did the cod piece go out of vogue? Perhaps it's time, with the increasing amount of time grown men seem to be spending with their children, for the cod piece to make a resurgence in popularity. Without this weakness, America's Funniest Home Videos would loose half its material!

** Post update. It is 5:58 - Greg just got hit in the wanker - Canon had the Rock Band drum stix and found an unusually hilarious crash cymbal on which to pound. Husband, broken back, on all fours, whimpering; unsympathetic kids (they get that from me, I guess) crawling on him; wife, blogging about his pain with a satisfied smile on her face.