This morning started off like many others. Running late, half asleep, trying to remember if I grabbed everything. You know how it is. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you have it together. But I leave at 4:45, and there is no part of “together” that I have at that hour. So now that I have checked in on the kids to make sure they are still breathing, I head for the garage. As soon as I open the door, I hear something. Fluttering, scurrying, something to that effect. One of those sounds that I’d rather not investigate. I stand at the door for a few seconds, trying to determine if “it” is indeed in the garage, in which case, I could climb across both cars and try to pry my sunroof open and crawl into the safety of my car. My other thought is, maybe it is outside. We have “porch birds”. These crazy birds seem to return every year rendering our porch useless until they decide to move on. Last night I was the victim of a fly-by. Of course I screamed like a little girl and tried to attack it with the bag of trash I was taking out. Bird 1, me 0.
Anyway, back to “it”. I made the brave decision to venture further into the garage. I went with the “porch bird” theory because the noise was way too loud and I don’t think I could handle “it” being anything other than a dive bombing bird that couldn’t easily get me. “It” couldn’t possibly be inside where it could potentially grab my ankles and pull me under the car. Now that I’ve talked myself into feeling better about the situation, I approach my side of the car and I hear it again. Gasp. It isn’t the “porch bird”, it’s an unidentified moving creature inside of my husband’s climbing gear bag. Of course the bag is not at eye level, so I have no clue what’s fluttering around in there. It might be a bird or maybe a bat that flew in the night before or maybe it’s a re-animated hand waiting to jump out and strangle me. I don’t know, they all seemed likely at the time.
Being the giant chicken that I am, I backed up, went around the front of the car and waited for the fluttering to stop before I made the mad dash for my door. Never in my life have I been so relieved to be inside my car! I know, I’m a huge wimp. I’d probably be the last to die in a horror movie, because unlike the people who have to go investigate the noise they just heard, I would be running in the other direction. See ya!
I felt it was my obligation as a wife and a mother to warn my husband Matt about what faced him in the garage. I mean, “it” could attack my entire family and drag them off into the woods. I just don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try to warn them. After texting him, I didn’t feel so bad. He thought “it” was outside to. I begged him to look and tell me what “it” was. Never in a billion years would I have looked in the bag myself. I waited in anticipation to see what was lurking in my garage and here “it”is . . . .
A flipping moth! Ok, so I had to laugh at myself. A lot. And I give “it” credit. It has great scare tactics. If it had been left up to me, I would have just sealed off the area and parked outside with the porch birds until the coast was clear!
It turns out, there is justice in the world, however small it may be. Matt told me that after he took the picture of the moth, a.k.a “it”, he let it go right outside the garage door. It was promptly snatched up by the porch bird.