Yesterday, Pritish Nandy wrote a rather insightful piece on fear in TOI. What he said (briefly) is that one man’s fear of creepy crawlies can induce the same gut-wrenching, heart-stopping anxiety as another man’s fear of say, rejection/failure/whatever. I appreciated it deeply because he understood that my anxiety over roaches/lizards/rats et cetera is not to be scoffed at. And particularly not with that idiotic testosterony line, “Stop acting idiotic, they’re smaller than you.” Good to know that not all men believe size matters.
And then last night I spotted a baby lizard in the bedroom. Baby lizards are worse than adult lizards because they’re horribly bouncy and leap all over the place in a frenzied manner. Sometimes (shudder) they also leap on you. Unbeloved husband ignored my piercing screams of terror – and the sod cannot be excused because Federer had already lost the match. Hell, I could have been murdered for all he cared. By the time he reluctantly got to the room the lizard had ducked for cover and that was that. He didn’t look remotely sorry (unbeloved husband, not the lizard) and raced back to watch more mindless crap on the telly. I was FORCED to spend the night in a room with a lizard, imagining its beady eyes staring at me while wondering if my toes tasted as good as moths. Had to pop an extra strong sleeping tablet to get through the damn night.
The morning after, my head hurts, my eyes are burning, my heart is still pounding dangerously, I have low grade fever and I’m seriously contemplating calling a divorce lawyer. After I call Pest Control India, of course – still waiting for their office to open. The lizard is more important than my sodding marriage. Thereafter, I shall figure out some way to punish unbeloved husband for his unsympathetic response to my trauma. Something that will hurt him even more than a smashed television set.