Chase storytelling legacy continues

Thanks to Uncle Stan, the intrepid author of the following tale:

Drove home last night around 8:30, expecting a quiet dinner served by lovely wife in our beautiful new home. Instead, found wife eventually in bedroom clutching gallon jug of bug spray with attached sprayer and shaking like a magic fingers bed in a cheap motel. No kidding, Irene was in total melt down.

What's wrong? says I.

B-b-b-ig centipede! says she.

Where is it?

Under the b-b-bed somewhere.

There, there hon, I'll kill it.

She had tried to smash with phone book, usually effective technique against bugdom, but apparently it had shrugged off the blow and skittered under the bed like one of the critters out of Alien. I must admit I was skeptical concerning her size description, but knew she would not sleep without seeing this bug thoroughly mashed. When she started on 'why did we move here?' I became convinced I had to kill it without delay. So began the great Texas bug hunt.

Sister [Jeany], I tore that room apart, turned over the dresser, emptied drawers, dumped suitcase (travel day today), looked EVERYWHERE! No bug. Bug was gone. No dinner and I was sweating buckets moving furniture that had yet to dimple the new carpet. Was lifting the box spring in disgust (no quiet dinner yet notice) and turned my head to comment to lovely wife that bug had clearly taken off for more hospitable surroundings. Irene was still shaking and looking not at husband, the defender, but at the wall behind the defender. Would also note that Irene was literally white as a sheet. Caught something out of corner of my eye, and at eye level with my current bent over posture. Turned and found myself eyeball to antennae with about 8 inches of ugly. Black body, orange legs (lots but I didn't count). J+J [John and Jeany], levitation trick [due to shock of cold water] in Canada lo those many years ago... NOTHING compared to how quickly I vacated the vicinity of that creature from bug hell screaming for something to kill it with. Got phone book, square hit with a full-arm swing.

Honest to God, that monstrosity should have been history. A bug smear on the windshield of life. Lifted the phone book. NO DEAD BUG! Had I missed? Couldn't have missed! But gone he was, no evidence of dead bug anywhere, and still no dinner. By this time my interest in food was marginal at best anyway. Adrenaline rush was making me nauseous. For you see, notice that while searching the room in its normal configuration, I was pretty sure I would see him coming, room was now chaos. A bug hiding and (I was sure) ambush heaven. And I was not so anxious to blithely pick stuff up either. Only great self control and need to be strong for child bride kept me from running out the front door screaming 'WHY DID WE MOVE HERE?!'.

Screech from Irene, finger pointing at 5 foot pile of blankets. Quick brief to hunting partner. Stay back, watch for escape attempt, spray when you get a shot. Started lifting blankets from top one by one, shake thoroughly (no prob there), and discard. Move to next blanket. Finally down to a single bottom sheet (5 subjective years later). Ready? says I...Ready says she. Lift! THERE HE IS! I stomp, once twice three times! Irene lets fly half gallon of liquid death. And STILL HE LIVES. 900 of 1000 legs broken but still trying to bite me. One last mash with size 11 combat boots...and finally he expires. Breathe deeply. Abrupt fear of embarrassment until I realized wet leg was not precious bodily fluids but rather second salvo from Irene who was not concerned at time with collateral damage to spouse. In military we call it friendly fire.

Irene guards corpse while I fetch shovel to remove remains for burial. Buried much deeper than normal bug grave. Should have sown with salt and had blessed by priest. Am sure he was still twitching when I started to cover him up. Said Shiva, back to the rejuvenated wife. She wanted to skip straight to dinner...I held out for reassembling bedroom first.

Interesting psych factor here. Child bride recovered very quickly. Male had returned to cave, saved female from certain death, killed the beast, all is well. Off to make dinner for mighty man the hunter. Male on other hand had seen death look him in the eye (with antennae no less) and realized his mortality. Couldn't finish dinner, doubtful of sleep. Visions of black and orange horrids crawling around in box springs making mockery of need for rest.

I told Irene Illinois would be a great place to retire...I TOLD her so. Love from Texas, Nuther