I have often dedicated blog space to my immense fear of scorpions. If you aren’t in the southwest you may find my concern odd—much the same way I don’t understand your worry of driving through a snowstorm or fear that the winter season is now October through April. For those of us living sans-snow, our trade-off appears to be a willingness to live with a vile little creature with a horrible sting that may sneak around your home and, if you are really unlucky, sting and terrify you.
My husband and I were just that lucky.
“Get up! Turn on the light!” My husband yelled. I stumbled up, noted that it was 1 am, and turned on the bedroom light. My husband threw the sheets back. There, in our bed, was a scorpion. A scorpion. In. Our. Bed. “It stung me!” he said, grabbing his side which was quickly turning red. I froze in fear, hoping this was a nightmare caused by a bad burrito. “Don’t just stand there, get something to kill it!” I grabbed a shoe and tossed it to him. “You want ME to kill it?” he griped. I stepped back, “it already got you, no point both of us getting stung.” I wondered if it was an omen. Was my husband about to transform into the Scorpion King? (aka Dwayne Johnson) Sadly, he did not. Although he did unleash a string of profanity which I will attribute to the venom. He smashed it with the shoe. We stood there dazed, confused and one of us in a great deal of pain. We got our UV light and searched the kids’ bedrooms (yes, scorpions glow under UV light because clearly they were designed to be completely horrifying!!)
We found no more. We lay awake, the lights on. The next morning I called our pest control guy and told him to use enough poison to kill anything smaller than a cat (sorry guinea pigs).
My husband and I discussed at length our bedroom attack. How in the world did a scorpion end up in our bed? I will confess, at one point, my husband wondered aloud if I had planted it there to sting him. His theory was withdrawn after he considered how utterly terrified I am of bugs in general and realized how utterly incapable I would be of hatching such a diabolical plan. Our final guess was that I did laundry that day and the scorpion might have gotten into the basket when I brought up the sheets. The moral of the story being, of course, that it’s far too dangerous to do laundry in Phoenix (or at least that’s my new excuse for letting it pile into miniature mountains.)
I will provide this silver lining to my now sleepless nights of constant checking under the sheets. My scorpion in the bed story has now made it into a contest for “creepiest scorpion encounter.” You can see my photo and entry at Facebook: on.fb.me/1iszprC