I was at the library one morning about a year ago with my entourage, perusing the children’s movie titles. My baby was getting heavy, and he kept tickling my back with his hand. “Get that hand out of there, baby.” For the fifth time I grabbed his little arm. But I distinctly felt the tickle again, though I was holding his arm. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn there was a bug in my shirt! I shook my shirt around the best that I could, thinking my pony tail was probably hanging down in the back of it. Ah, much better. We moved on to the big people movie titles (goodbye Blockbuster, hello library) where I was trying to keep all four kids out of the stacks.
Suddenly, I knew that there was definitely a bug having a heyday in my shirt. It’s probably a good thing that a goliath-like man was standing only one foot from me because everything in me was screaming, “This shirt has got to come off!” Instead of going with my instinct, I stood there shaking violently and slapping, grabbing, squishing, pulling at my shirt while somehow keeping a firm hold on my baby, and carefully avoiding eye contact with the man. Finally, I realized that with my fist I was grasping some skin, a big wad of shirt, and a very real, very big bug. Frantically I searched in vain for a bathroom, keeping my fist firm around the intruder. Not seeing a bathroom sign, I took off for the front desk yelling, “Come on kids.” I ran right up to the counter, not caring that I was interrupting someone being helped, and said, “Bathroom?” quite a bit too loud. The lady behind the counter looked up startled but pointed in the right direction.
I took off running, then realized that my wonderful children were not behind me. I ran back. “Come on, come on, RUN.” My poor girls must have been wondering who I was and what in the world I had done with their mother. I finally made it to the bathroom where I handed off the baby to my eldest daughter and tried to calmly rid myself of my unwanted cargo. I twisted and leaned into the mirror as far as I could over the sink so that I would have a good view. Then gingerly opened my fist, took one look inside and went into complete hysterics that didn’t end until I saw hit the floor the biggest, ugliest, brown beetle sort of bug. Whew! As we walked out of the bathroom, one of my girls proclaimed, “I’m gonna tell my friends!”