In my book, Lucy Ricardo of I Love Lucy and Laura Petrie of The Dick Van Dyke Show are the Queens of madcap, homespun hilarity. But there are days I could compete. Now, I’m not saying I’m in the ‘candy assembly line’ or ‘inflatable rubber raft’ league, but my loved ones have been treated to more than a few familial belly laughs at my expense. Let’s see, when was the last time something kooky happened to me? Hmm, could it have been…today?
I’m still recovering from this morning’s escapade, and as a public service I’m going to risk your ridicule and share my experience. I’m an environmentally sensitive person, and as such I’m prone to experimenting with ‘green’ solutions to household problems. I heard via a non-toxic, ecological and organic blog, which I regard with roughly the same reverence as Moses did the Burning Bush, that cayenne pepper will deter animals of the feline persuasion from using your flower beds as their personal litter box. Apparently each and every cat within a three-mile radius considers my rose garden to be this city’s most desirable place to squat. A compliment, I suppose.
But upon learning that I had something right in my own cupboard that might encourage these creatures to take their adulation elsewhere, I immediately went to work scattering large amounts of (exceedingly potent) cayenne pepper throughout my garden. Timing is everything. My husband and children came home just in time to find me wracked with a fit of a violent sneezing worthy of a Claritin commercial. They claimed they could actually see the contents of my nose spewing into the air as they rounded the corner and pulled into the driveway. Somehow, this was funny to them.
In retrospect, I now see something important that I failed to consider. It should probably have been obvious, even to someone who doesn’t read Martha Stewart Living. I’m speaking of the wind. The only time of day in our neighborhood when there isn’t wind to rival that of Kitty Hawk is around 3 AM. Well, I’m an ‘in the moment’ kind of gal. I pass GO and collect my $200 and never look back. Now, this can be positive trait in many situations, but in this particular scenario? Not so much.
If the pepper idea had come to me at 3 AM I’d have probably dragged myself out of bed and accomplished the whole thing without a hitch, but no such luck. For me, wind, cayenne, cat poop and ecological sensitivity all combined serendipitously to produce great amusement for my family. If I hadn’t been in the process of passing my spleen through my sinus cavities, I’d have explained to the ingrates that it was all an attempt to guard their genes and preserve not only their own futures but that of generations to come.
They didn’t even say, “Bless you.”
A major bout of sneezing means, of course, that your nose runs and your eyes water. And that means, of course, that you wipe them. If a tissue or hanky is readily available, fine. If not, you just use your hands, right? Well, the second lesson of this morning taught me why mail carriers, college co-eds and other potential victims find pepper spray to be such an effective means of self defense. When cayenne pepper finds its way into your eyes, the result is enormous pain (think: licking a cheese grater then rinsing your mouth out with vinegar)—not to mention a long stream of unrepeatable utterances to a husband who is desperately trying to hold back the tears of laughter.
The Cayenne Pepper Episode occurred only a day and half after what is now known in our home as the Praying Mantis Incident. Responding to the advice of the same environmental gurus referred to in paragraph two, I purchased what I believed would be a pair of praying mantises to gleefully gobble all the aphids and other problematic insects in our garden. As it turns out, what I received, in a container that looked like a mini Baskin and Robbins ice cream carton, were two golf ball-sized egg sacs.
Apparently it would take two weeks for them to hatch and then they could be released into the garden. I moved the sacs to a clear Mason jar in the kitchen so my boys could watch and revel in the whole miraculous process of life. I’m an educational romantic, all right? The reality was that the jar became an unnoticed knick-knack within a day and a half.
Almost exactly two weeks later my husband asked, ‘Shouldn’t there be some sort of top on this jar in case those bugs get out?’ My glib, and slightly defensive, response? “Nah. We’ll notice when they hatch. And they can’t climb up the glass anyway.”
Famous last words. The very next afternoon, with two minutes and forty five seconds to get myself into the car to pick up carpool, I notice something all over the kitchen floor. Upon closer examination I realize that the praying mantis eggs have in fact hatched and there aren’t two as I had naively assumed, but more like two hundred. And F.Y.I, they can indeed climb out of a glass jar.
Now if this had been ants all over my kitchen floor I would’ve simply done whatever was necessary to mercilessly and expediently dispose of them. (Environment, my butt… get the RAID!) But I had paid actual money for these purposeful, living things, and somehow I was going to get them to their aphid-infested Promisedland…in two minutes and forty five seconds.
If you ever have the opportunity to gingerly sweep up two hundred praying mantises, I urge you to schedule more time than that. Baby praying mantises are light, delicate and quick little creatures, and not all that easy to catch with just a dustpan and hand broom. (And using a sweet voice to call them doesn’t seem to help much. ‘Here mantis, mantis, mantis.’) I did the best I could, but even days later small, stick-like things were showing up near (in) the boys’ breakfast bowls. Oh well, who can’t use a little extra protein?
Sitcom worthy? Maybe not, but my family has certainly laughed harder at me than at anyone they’ve seen on Nick at Night. So keep checking your local listings. Possible episode blurbs might read ‘Michele attempts to straighten her bent, ten-inch candles in the oven, with unexpected results.’ Or, ‘Michele’s husband uses pliers in an attempt to free the stuck zipper on her gown just as they’re leaving for the Black and White Ball, and hilarity ensues.’ I smell an Emmy. Or is that those candles?
