Bat In The Bathroom

Surprisingly enough, I have survived Day 3 of  the summer break, and have yet had to threaten my offspring with any dire consequences for bad behaviour.  Great for my sanity, not so much for my blog. I am forced to dip into my reserve supply of subject matter. 

This story harkens back a few years, to when I discovered that my husband has Chiroptophobia. At the time Rob and I were living in a basement apartment of an old house in the High Park area of Toronto. We had three cats, not the felines we have now, but just as useless, and I woke up one night to a commotion in the bathroom.

I found the cats warily eying an object in the shower stall, so I called Rob, who arrived on the scene just as the object moved. The next few moments were just a blur. My husband let out a blood curdling yell, ran out the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, leaving me trapped inside. I couldn't open the door because he was hanging on to the other side of the door handle for dear life. When he was finally able to string more than two words together in a coherent sentence, he told me the object was a bat.

I still didn't understand his reaction. After all I grew up in England - no rabies there - and my sister had a pet bat, at least up until it got squished in a door.  What was the  big deal ? Apparently it was a big deal to him, and it was going to be up to me to do something about it. I wasn't sure what, because the only tools I had at my disposal was a toothbrush and a facecloth, and I'm no MacGyver.  Rob finally agreed to leave an empty shoebox outside the bathroom door, as long as I swore an oath not to open the door until he was safely locked inside the bedroom.

Fortunately the bat didn't realise it was supposed to be a fearsome creature and it was fairly easy to catch it in the box and take it outside. I wasn't allowed back in until I showed Rob the empty shoe box through the window. 

Now to be fair to my husband, who after I read him this posting, said that I wasn't showing him in a favourable light, I will give you his version of events.  Saw bat. Calmly retrieved shoebox. Passed it through the bathroom door. Waited at a safe distance. No blood curdling scream, no hiding in the bedroom. There you go, his version.  Take your pick. Personally, I vote for mine.

And in case you hadn't guessed Chiroptophobia is a fear of bats.  I don't know if there is a phobia for wives who write blogs, but I think he may have that too.