September 16, 2011 6:35 AM

Sir Jack valiantly defends the realm from the threat of the R.O.U.S.

Once upon a time (Wednesday), in a land far, far away (OK, our back yard), there lived a brave and wise Prince. This Prince, though dashing and daring of spirit and possessed of a soft spot for damsels in distress, had a bit of a dramatic streak (IT’S A TUMOR!! I JUST KNOW IT!! OWW!! IT’S A TUMOR!!). Making matters worse, he was possessed of a desperately short (SQUIRREL!!!) attention span. He spent his days praying that it wouldn’t come down to him having to defend the realm…because the idea of physical conflict frightened him- especially when it came to the R.O.U.S. This is the story of how our brave and valiant prince overcame his fear of the R.O.U.S. (at least for a brief, fleeting moment, how he got the girl, and how peace and tranquility reigned throughout the land (OK, our back yard).

I’ve never made any secrets of my distaste for, and irrational fear of, rats. It’s a truly ironic fear for someone who’s spent as much time as I have in Third World countries, but I. HATE. RATS. Actually, “hate” doesn’t go nearly far enough in explaining my antipathy towards rats, but you get the idea. If I ever go to Hell, it will undoutedly be a looped screening of Willard).

Yeah, so I’m not a big fan of rats, just in case I hadn’t already made that abundantly clear. I’ve always believed that all of us should be granted at least one irrational fear…and this happens to be mine. I don’t know where or how it originated, and I certainly don’t understand the reason for it. All I know is that even pictures of rats (the poster for Willard absolutely creep me out. Talking about them is no fun (nor is writing)…and actually seeing one is enough to send me over the edge.

Given that backdrop, you can imagine my abject fear and trepidation when, while standing in our backyard, I spied a rat ambling along the back fence. I’d just finished watering some plants along our fence line, and was standing on the deck when I noticed an R.O.U.S. ambling through the plants near the fence. It seemed odd, in that it was daylight (noon, actually), and rats are rarely seen during daylight hours. Thankfully, they’re even more frightened of humans than I am of them (and trust me, my fear is substantial), but there it was, plain as day and the size of a small house cat (or so it seemed to my hyperactive imagination). So, you would have no doubt been expected me to scream like a little girl, run into the house, and curl up in the fetal position. I certainly would have expected the same thing from myself.

Except that I didn’t react that way at all. What I was was pissed off. I was furious that a furry R.O.U.S., my biggest fear writ large, had violated my living space (DAMN KIDS!! GET OFF MY LAWN!!!). As soon as I grabbed a nearby hose, the noise startled the R.O.U.S., and it scurried off from when it came (hopefully, the neighbor’s yard). And so I claimed victory over the evil rodent. While I was prepared to do some considerable chest-thumping, I had to remind myself that under different circumstances, I just might have screamed like a little girl, bolted into the house, and curled up in the fetal position. Bravery, it seems, is situational and fleeting…and my fear of rats is by no means cured, regardless of my moment of temporary insanity bravery.

Thinking about my encounter with the R.O.U.S. still creeps me out, even though at the time I reacted in a perfectly sane and rational way…which is what surprised me so much. I was so pissed off that an R.O.U.S. had violated my space that I didn’t even think to be scared…until afterwards. Thinking about it now just makes my skin crawl, and all I want to do is curl up in the fetal position.

Brave defender of the realm….

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This page contains a single entry by Jack Cluth published on September 16, 2011 6:35 AM.

When a lie become indistinguishable from the truth, you must be a Republican was the previous entry in this blog.

If I'm overexposed, I must be doing something right is the next entry in this blog.

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