When I was pregnant with our son, Luke, I was enormous. That’s a harsh word. I was pregnant. But man, my belly was frackin’ HUGE. You may imagine that a belly of such magnitude would make it tough to fit through tight spaces. Remember that for later in the story.
Before we renovated our bathroom it was in deplorable condition. Liveable, but damn creepy. We didn’t realize that one of the walls was rotten from years of neglect and water damage, and of course the window frame, too.
One evening as I was taking a leisurely shower and was in the midst of lathering my hair, I saw out of the corner of my eye…a slug. Ah! Just writing that gave me the willies.
Where was it? Oh, no big deal. It was basking in the steam of my shower on the window ledge – like an inch from my face!
Let’s be reasonable here…actually, forget reason. On a good day I’m excitable, but on a very pregnant day (naked and wet and shampooey) I have the potential to be a complete and utter nut bag.
Side note: I love gardening. It frees me, relaxes me and I enjoy allowing myself to become encrusted with dirt and sweat for fun. But even then, when I encounter certain insects, my stomach lurches and I have to say to myself Calm down you freak. It’s just a bug. Not spiders, though. They don’t bother me in the least. As long as I don’t wake up with one in my mouth or something, I’m fine.
Anyway, I totally freaked out and jumped out of the shower. I ripped the shower curtain open so hard that I tore it off the rings.
Let’s recap: Naked, wet, shampooey and kinda fat. And not in a good mood at this point.
All I wanted to do was escape the infested bathroom. Had there been a room full of dinner guests over that evening I would have run right out in front of them. (Fear of heights? Yup. Certain bugs? Yup. Spiders and/or Public nudity? Nah, it’s fine.) Unfortunately the door knob was turning just as you’d expect but the door was somehow jammed. I turned and pushed with all my gestating might but I couldn’t get the door open.
Michael heard all the commotion and came running over. “Are you ok? What happened?” he asked.
“I’m not alone in here!”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a slug! It’s on the window ledge looking at me! I’m freaking out, Michael! This is f***ing disgusting!”
Michael tried to barge through the door but it was no use. I had already created in my brain a very embarrassing scenario where the fire department would come and they’d have to hoist me through the very narrow, unsuitable-for-a-pregnant-woman window. (Insert new fear of public nudity here.) Plus, firemen are usually hot – no pun intended.
Luckily, I married a very resourceful man. A man with a crowbar. When he was finished with our bathroom door it looked like it had been attacked by the Hulk. I didn’t give a crap about the door, though. I would have been fine with hanging one of those beaded curtains in its place so as to avoid any future complications.
My saint-like contractor brother-in-law came by a few days later and helped Michael redo the bathroom. I’m sure my husband called him and recounted my trapped-naked-in-the-shower-with-a-slug episode so it sounded like there must be a straight jacket somewhere with my name embroidered on it. Who cares? The bathroom got redone. It has since been slug-free.