The Sixth Sense
The house shower addict requested a shower this morning and so I stumbled out of bed in my sleep, without glasses, to turn it on for him. PJs off, shower warm and ready, he wouldn't get in.
"Somebody's in there," he said.
"What?"
"Somebody's in the shower," he said again, pointing at air.
The next several seconds were spent wondering whether or not all of my relentless ridicule of that creepy actor-kid on the movie, and of the overplayed clip I see dead people was now coming back to give me a haunting bite in the butt. Fortunately, I was too tired to care.
"Can you get him out," he asked.
"Get who out?"
It was about then that I noticed a small grey blur (remember, no glasses,) in the bottom of the shower, and leaning closer I spotted him.
Turns out somebody was just a small silverfish, happily perched on the moisture-dotted grout where the shower wall met the floor, and the only sixth sense Evan has is for discerning the presence of household pests, inherited, undoubtedly, from his mother.
After I rose to the task of doing the dirty work, killing and flushing, and you know, generally restoring peace to the universe, Evan deemed it safe to once again enter the foam-lettered alphabet sauna that is his tiled heaven.
When his daddy joined him minutes later (and conveniently after the clean-up,) he told him,
"Daddy, I want to be really great friends."
Well, a daddy will do much nicer than a silverfish on any day, don't you agree!
(And for my friends up North, yes, our ants really do bite, but if you're now a little freaked by the idea that we often wake up to find small fish in our Florida showers, this is the silverfish I'm speaking of.)
