The Incompetence of Milton

For those of you that do not know or remember, I've named my house Milton. It suits him to perfection. Milton is a good little home, cozy and warm, but lately he has been neglecting to carry out his primary responsibility. He is my shelter, and as my shelter he is supposed to protect me from the world outside.

[shel-ter]
–noun

1.

Something beneath, behind, or within which a person, animal, or thing is protected from storms, missiles, adverse conditions, etc.; refuge.

See! I don't think it's asking too much. And really, I don't expect him to shelter me from missiles, but bugs should NOT be an issue. Yes. BUGS! Just this month alone there have been three offenses. First there was the marauding june bug that ambushed me like one of the Japanese bombers during the attack on Pearl Harbor. Then there was the gimungo spider that dropped at my feet when I closed my shower curtain. And finally, the most recent intruder, a homicidal moth.

Late one night I was peacefully brushing my teeth when I heard a bumping from within the shower. No sooner had I turned to look than a moth zoomed out from behind the curtain, bouncing off walls and flying recklessly in a dive-bombing fashion. Fearing for my life, I screamed and ran, closing the door behind me. There was only one thing to do. I had to fight it. I went to get my fly-swatter.

I was afraid to go back in, but knew that I must. Slowly I opened the door, peering around it in search of my enemy. PING! He took off again throwing himself around the room in a frantic manner, no doubt trying to confuse me. The moth was going too fast and I couldn't follow the inconsistent arcs of his movement to go in for the kill. Finally he landed behind my mirror. I waggled the swatter behind the mirror and out he flew like a bat out of Hell.

This pattern of events went on for several agonizing moments.

At last it lighted on my shower curtain. I arched back my arm and hit the unsuspecting insect with all the strength I could muster. I made contact with the moth, but it was determined to outdo me and it tore off at me, obviously knowing it must strike now or never.

But I was too quick.

I jumped back behind the door and slammed it shut. When all was quiet again I peered into the bathroom. It was silent. I waggled my swatter behind the door. Nothing. I banged the door against the wall so as to disturb the moth. Nothing. I knew I had to go in and I leapt inside, flinging the door shut, weapon at the ready. But there was nothing there! I looked all around me, and then, at my feet, there he lay. It was clear to me that the moth had been stunned, but I had no scruples with kicking my opponent when he was down. With one final swing, I smashed it with my swatter, the dust from its wings spattering across my floor like some bizarre chalk drawing. Victorious, I picked it up with a Kleenex and disposed of it, wiping off my hands in a job well done.

I'm hoping Milton will do a bit better in the months to follow.