John is going to kill me when he reads this. But I just can’t not write about it.

My daughters are… a bit weird. Not weird in the way that they are strange to everyone, just weird in that if they didn’t look like carbon copies of me, I would SWEAR they were switched at birth with…. some princess’ brat.

They are total pantywaists. Never has there been two more whiny, sensitive, fraidy-cat, sissies put on this earth.

OK, maybe the aforementioned princess popped out something that comes close, but I’m guessing that mine take the cake.

We live in SOUTH Texas. Bugs are a fact of life down here. And while we don’t have roaches in the house, it is entirely due to the quarterly visit of the exterminator.  And I know what you’re thinking.

Yes. I do.

Krissa, if you would just keep a clean house they wouldn’t come in. Keep the food put away and post little signs around telling them they can’t use the facilities…

WRONG. I’ve done all that. (Put up little signs in English AND Spanish)

SOUTH Texas. People who live on The Gulf Coast know about all this.

Anyway, since they were mere babies, if they saw a roach, or spider, or mosquito hawk, heck, you name it. Anything. They screamed for me. I became the “go to guy” for all things icky.

Damn you and your consistent job history, John! I was the one there with them, murdering bugs raising them and being their knight in shining armor.

Well, that was all a bunch of crap. I thought they’d grow out of it. They are TWENTY AND TWENTY-ONE years old, now. Do you know how many times I have heard, “MOOOOOOM! COME QUICK!”, and gone charging UP the stairs second guessing all the way about whether or not I should have brought the  pistol with me, only to find a “child” lying on her bed bug-eyed, (HA! “bug”-eyed!), pointing at a roach that is trying valiantly to die due to a toxic chemical barrier it has wandered across?

Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to have the most outrageous run-on sentences? Are you now realizing I don’t care?

So I calmly walk over to the bug, remove my flip-flop, whack it, replace flip-flop and turn to go.

OH, MOM! DON’T LEAVE IT THERE!

Yes, I have made them clean up their own murder scenes in the past. It’s just a lot less drama to snatch a tissue or bit of toilet paper and do it myself.

AANNYWAAAAAAY, yesterday morning, I was sleeping in and all of the sudden the bed was bouncing and Kes had thrown herself across it and John, who had yesterday off was standing there. They are looking at me saying things about a lizard in highly excited voices.

Let’s be honest here. I was SOUND asleep when they came in. A gentle whisper in my ear would have sounded frantic to me.

So they’re saying something about come quick and lizard and Purzza, our ancient gray house cat. So, like an idiot, I do. I leap out of bed, (Once again wondering if I need the pistol.) I mean pandemonium, people. 

They hustle me down the hall and into HACK. (Longtime readers, will know that this stands for HalfAsstic Central Kommand. It is also the dining room. Whatev.)

Kes has explained by this time that Pruzza had a “HUGE” lizard in her mouth and Kes “thought it was a snake”, and swatted Purzza so the poor thing would drop it and it’s a lizard and it’s “HUGE! I MEAN HUGE”!

It occurred to me later to wonder why on earth she would want the cat to drop it if she thought it was a snake, but I never really got a good answer for this.

So I walk over and pick up the poor lizard and rinse him off under the tap, since he is hopelessly tangled in a dust bunny from behind the wine fridge, and take him outside.

He thanks me politely, sympathizes for a moment with me about the crazy people in my house and lets me know that Purzza still has good reflexes for such an old cat.

He moves off into the grass.

When I come back in I am looking for the MAN of the household. Hummm, there he is. Looking all sheepish.

Kes pipes up and says, “Dad was never gonna be able to catch that lizard, Mom. He was trying to use a paper towel to grab it.”

I dissolved into hysterical laughter and I’m not sure, but I think John blushed.

It’s a good thing he’s so damn cute.