Marriage is for Stingers (you thought I was going to say suckers)

So I have this friend we’ll call Formica.  Formica Linoleum.  FL for short.  A good fake name.  You know I have to change names to protect the innocent (gigglesnort).  Anyway, we meet for lunch and I get the scoop on FL’s Adventures of Single Living.  Wait… I like this better:  The Single Adventuress.  No, I don’t  Scratch that.

FL got divorced out of a pretty bad marriage recently (as opposed to all those divorces that happen to good marriages) and we were talking over barbeque and iced tea and she was smugly commenting that she saw no further need in her life for marriage.  “I mean,” she said, “I have my house, I don’t want any more kids, and my job provides health insurance!  Why on earth would I want to get married?”

Well we laughed genially (I did not mention anything about companionship or financial security or…I forget the other thing that people usually marry for) and compared notes about our last few dates, and generally behaved in the way TV tells single women to act, then went our separate ways.

Well, the next time Formica and I meet for a cuppa tea, she makes her dramatic entrance to the Starbucks, her strawberry blond curls blowing in the air conditioning, her heels tapping the floor, her emerald earrings catching all the light, and says, “God can be a real sunuvagun when he wants to get his message across!” (FL talks about God like that; like He’s a good pal who sometimes leaves her stuck with the check, but always picks her up when her car breaks down.)  She orders her tea, and descends into the cushy chair beside me like a queen gracing a peasant with her presence, and she tells me her saga.

So here’s what happened: Formica gets home that other evening after barbeque and is getting the kids to bed, shutting down the house, feeding the cats, crating the dogs… the usual.  Then, however, she hears this weird “tink tink” around the kitchen sink, looks up at the light over the sink, and sees a wasp.  “A wasp!  Red as fire, and so obviously the DEADLY type!” she says. “Until that moment, I swear, I had NO idea I was mortally phobic about wasps!  But I started hyperventilating, couldn’t think clearly, began to panic.  I realized it was the first time I’d ever faced a vicious predatory insect alone!  My whole life, someone has been there to take care of it.  But now it was me.  Just me.  With kids and dogs and cats to protect!”

So FL flails her hands about, hides in the bathroom for about fifteen minutes, and considers her options.  She could close all the doors and just pray the wasp didn’t find its rampaging way through to sting her or her kids.  But what about the pets!  She could fake a heart attack and call paramedics.  But what about the ambulance costs!  She gets her cell phone and scrolls through her contacts, debating which person wouldn’t mind being called at 10:45 on a school night to come over and save them all.

Common sense finally squirms its way through the irrational fear and gives her a smack on the back of the head.  She says, “I had to get a hold of myself dammit.  I was a frigging grown up.  There was wasp spray in the shed.  In the dark, bug-filled, smelly, scary shed.  And of course, I couldn’t find one single dadgum flashlight.  But I was strong.  I was brave.  I marched out there with only the porch light on.  I walked into that shed and found the wasp spray by feel, even though I was positive by this point that some fanged beast was waiting for me… slavering for my flesh… and I was shaking so gee-dee hard I almost knocked over the weed eater!  But I got it!  I went back and triumphed over the invertebrate menace!”

Needless to say, she sprays most of the kitchen from the safety of the doorway, covering the windows, cabinets, and clean dishes in the drying rack with insecticide, but she kills that wasp, dammit.  Alone.  All by herself.  Of course, she couldn’t sleep for three hours because of the adrenaline.

She finishes her cup of tea and declares, “So I’ve told God that I get it!  I see now why someone might get married again!  In-house exterminator!”

I sip my tea and realize there’s no way I can disagree.

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6 Responses to “Marriage is for Stingers (you thought I was going to say suckers)”

  1. Anonymous Says:

    The real reason for a marriage – In-house Exterminator : pest control not to be totally defined as insects as it is for almost anything that PEST us of/ and in ” Our worlds”, There go caretaker, friend Buddie, and one to share with the things we all fall short of by fear or any other character traits we would Like to have for comfort.. why is it then that ppl can not go by the laws of man-KIND and lose sight of this reason? HM must ponder ,, Nice Liz

  2. listen2uraunt Says:

    Hi Liza, I just killed a wasp the other night, so this was timely for me. I crept up on it and swatted it from around the corner. I was relieved and probably did a silly dance when I realized that it was dead and was not going to retaliate. A friend of mine got a wasp scare this morning in his house. What’s up with all these wasps, I wonder.

  3. Diana Beebe Says:

    I don’t know how I missed this post. LOL. The perfect reason to get married (when you have everything else covered)–FL should make sure her intended isn’t afraid of bugs.

    • lizacaruthersblog Says:

      Oh my yes… he must have no fear of the creepy crawlies, and be willing to plunge a toilet. Fortunately, there’s not much need for parallel parking anymore, so he’s off the hook there.

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