I’m a mild mannered person, not usually given to fighting-but last Friday I found myself up against the wall and unable to turn the other cheek.
With the beautiful spring weather, I’ve left the doors open a few times. There was trash to put out, a two handed job if ever there was one, and no way to shut the door. A couple of times I left the door open while I checked the mail; with the warm temperatures I’ve turned off the heat.
I screamed, jumped backwards, bumped into the bed and almost toppled onto the floor. As sanity returned I felt a little silly, but the creature sat on top of my shoes opening his mouth and hissing.
What a dilemma! I realized I had no dragon slayer to call. I would have to fight this battle myself. The objective: to reclaim my shoes and drive the invader from my home.
How, I wondered, could I capture the dragon, retrieve my shoes and make it to work on time? There was no time to draft a battle plan. I needed to charge into action.
All this thinking and rationalizing probably didn’t take two minutes, but as I stared at the creature who had invaded my home, he continued to lift his body up and down and hiss at me. He was magnificent in his fury and to me, a novice dragon slayer, a truly terrifying sight.
I tried shooing him away. He pumped his body even more furiously. Okay, I thought, maybe I can wear another pair of shoes, but no I really needed that pair.
I vacated the bedroom, conceding Rounds One and Two to the invader.
I walked up the hall, searching for anything appropriate to use as a weapon, discarding first one item and then another. Plastic bags were out because they weren’t stiff enough to contain the creature. I’ve just recycled all the cardboard boxes. I walked through the kitchen and into the garage. Nothing presented itself as a likely weapon. Thursday was trash day, so pickings were slim as my grandma would have said.
The clock was ticking, anxiously I searched again. How I wondered would I explain myself if I were late to work? Would anyone understand? I needed my shoes!
Finally, I settled on a jar that had once held the most delicious sliced peaches. Silently, I sent a thank you to my son for sharing this find with me, but mostly I was grateful that they came in a glass jar that I hadn’t yet recycled.
Jar in one hand, whisk broom in the other, I returned to the bedroom. I approached my shoes; my uninvited guest was still there. He sat on top of my shoe as if prepared to defend it to the death.
Life is good, I thought as I turned him loose in the Rosemary bush. In my mind I heard the music swell. Victory tasted like the sweetest honey.