Empathy

Shirtless is very brave, but when faced with an insect, he screams a lot like a rabbit in distress. 

Have you ever heard a rabbit in distress?  It sounds just like a kid screaming. 

We used to keep pet rabbits in our backyard.  There was the first time a predator came near the rabbits in the night, and we (well, not we – I…I woke – Husband doesn't wake in the night because of sounds…Husband wakes in the night if you take his blankets, but he doesn't respond to sounds…sounds like a bullhorn, for instance)….

In any case,

I woke to a horrific squeal and went running out back to see what was happening to Shirtless…or maybe Pixie at 3 AM in the backyard…because – of course – children hanging out in the backyard at three in the morning IS an option, after all. 

It wasn't Shirtless…or Pixie…they were in their beds, which I learned after I went back IN the house to check their beds, and then ran into MY bedroom to WHIP the blankets off Husband….

What WAS that?

Well, I later learned it was a…yep…rabbit in distress, and a couple rabbit in distress calls later, and I was able to stay asleep while distinguishing between rabbit in distress and kid in distress. 

However, it has been years since the rabbits, and if I were to hear a sound like a rabbit in distress today, I would know – without a doubt –because I no longer have pet rabbits - that it is Shirtless paralyzed by the presence of a bug in his operating area.

Yes.  Shirtless.  Big, Bad Shirtless…

Shirtless don’t do bugs. 

For instance, we have a moth situation gaining momentum in our minivan.  I am expecting the seats to be devoid of any upholstery any day now.  The moths don’t do much divebombing of passengers during the day – I dunno…is this the way of the moth…night bombers?  Don’t care.  I just know that AT NIGHT moths mingle with my children in the minivan, and most of my kids find this a good way to break up the monotony in the backseat after a long day, smashing the moths on the ceiling and trying to make as long a streak as possible with the moth dust.  Good times to be had back there.

But – SHIRTLESS don’t play moth smashing games.  In fact, Shirtless thinks I am some sort of sadist because I seatbelt him into his chair in the torture chamber we like to call, “the minivan.”  He claims he heard me say, “I am going to strap you down and moths are going to attack you.” 

However,  I am laying a bet that I said, “LET me strap you down or I am going to attack you.” 

It hurts to be so continually misunderstood.

So, driving down the road at night with Shirtless strapped into his torture device is way up there on my list of things to avoid at all costs.  He sounds like a condemned man back there.  If I am somewhere away from home, with Shirtless, and it starts to get dark, I get very agitated and panicky, and I make a quick departure.  I am like a reverse vampire.  

But, up until recently, I have NOT had much compassion for Shirtless.  I am being honest.  I drive all tense, hysterically yelling to the older kids, “Keep the moths away from him!”  And then I instantaneously switch my tone and softly call back thoughtful remarks to Shirtless like, “They are just BUGS!” and “They don’t bite!”  and “Why do you care if they eat your clothes?”  and “Your clothes didn't cost that much – let em eat em!”

But – no dice.  Shirtless doesn't do bugs…not moths…not any bugs...and not spiders, absolutely NOT spiders.

CUE the fleas.

My animals recently experienced a – let us call it – infestation of fleas.  I put cheap flea medicine on them – because….well, because I am cheap.  Hardly a flea died.  I actually heard fleas chuckling.  I heard a flea say, “Watch this,” and then I saw him stick his little flea finger into the poison on my dog’s back, then stuck it in his flea mouth, and then grabbed his little flea throat and started to pretend to choke and stagger backwards…

So, I went and bought expensive flea medication because I dislike smart a$$ insects.

But, now – we have the aftermath…flea eggs hatching…flea circuses open for business…in my living room.

Let us complicate this flea condition with another little detail: 

my hair is falling out. 

Irrelevant, you say? 

I beg to differ.  Of course, I am not saying that the fleas are to blame for my hair falling out.  I am not even blaming my children. 

My hair is falling out because I am far enough out from the birth of Baby Child that…well…it is time for my luxurious pregnant-lady extra-hair…to bite the dust.

And bite the dust it shall.

Hair is FLYING out.

It is FLYING out and landing on my arms and on my legs and in Baby Child’s mouth, and I know this to be true because Baby Child keeps pooping my hair.

It is not the poop that is the problem.  For once.

It is the hairs landing on my arms and my legs.

Every time a hair tickles my arm…or my leg…I think I am being attacked by a flea.  I jump up, do karate moves, get the willies (that looks like a full body shimmy – you know, and you contort your arms in all sorts of bizarre ways, sort like you are doing the wave, with your body, but it looks funky), and I cry out, things like, “Do I have a flea on me…Do I have a flea on me…Do I have a flea on me…(x100).” 

And, my children come in to watch the show.  Shirtless even comes.  He is the only one who has compassion.  He comes over and says, “Let me see,”

And he grabs a chunk of my hair – forcefully – lifts his nose and says, “Maybe.”

I don’t.  I mean, do I?  No.  Of course, I don’t, and I know that I don’t.  Because.  I am a clean person, and I Googled fleas, and they don’t like to live on people;

I was typing on the computer…reading more about slaying fleas and having fleas…I was drinking a LOT of coffee, and a hair hit my arm,

DISTRESSED RABBIT CALL!

It was then,

I thought about my 4-year old, strapped into his car seat…

I felt really awful that I haven’t done more to save Shirtless from the moths.