Yes, dear readers, 'tis true. I've gone mad. Quite mad. Not Mad Hatter mad, not yet, but close. Examine the evidence and judge for yourself as to whether my self-diagnosis is correct.
Living in Indiana, you are faced with a problem every summer. Huge flying bugs. Everywhere. Especially if you live near the woods. Which I do. Or the river. Which I do. Every time someone opens the back door to let the dogs out, bugs come flying in. This is most annoying at night, when the bedroom light is on to attract them. Now for most people, this is nothing more than a mere annoyance. But for me, this is a huge problem, as I hate bugs and cannot stand having even the smallest pest in the house. So every evening before I go to bed, I walk around with a fly swatter, making sure I am safe to sleep without fear of attack from the bugs that may crawl on me in the middle of the night. Because that would be unacceptable. While this fact alone qualifies me for a closer look by mental health professionals, it is the events of the other night that, according to my husband, gets me entry into the "Officially Has Lost It" club. Here's what happened.
I had trouble falling asleep and lay awake reading a book for quite some time after my husband had commenced snoring. As I rose to turn the light off, I noticed a huge beetle like creature flying around. So I grabbed my weapon and commenced warfare. And I missed him several times. He was good at hiding, the little bugger, so to draw him out, I turned the light off and on several times. After missing him once again, he began to hide. Now this caused a panic in me as I tried in vain to fall asleep. What if that evil pest emerged from his hiding space and tried to bite me in the night? So I lay awake, eyes wide open, looking for movement or any indication that he had emerged.
And then it happened. The tell-tale green flashing of a lighting bug on the top of my husband's dresser. I sat watching for about 20 seconds before throwing the covers off of me and grabbing my weapon. This time he would die! I tip toed over to the dresser and swung with all my might. BAM! BAM! BAM! Was he dead yet? The light still glowed underneath a paper my husband had laid on his dresser. I cautiously removed the paper, only to discover that the bug I had so violently tried to kill was, in fact, my husband's bluetooth earpiece that was plugged into his charger.
"Are you kidding me?!" I whispered in frustration. I looked over at the bed. My husband hadn't moved and his eyes were closed. Good, he hadn't seen my humiliation. Or so I thought. A few days later as we got ready for bed, he calmly asked me, "Are you going to try and kill my phone again tonight?" Crap.
So there you have it. I've gone quite mad. Again.