Who You Gonna Call?

Back in July, Joe and I were enjoying a quiet evening at home. We were both working, each lounging on a couch, and plugging away at our computers. It was a warm evening and we were happy to have the windows open for the fresh air.

Suddenly, we both jumped, as we noticed something fly in through the window. Initially, I thought it was just a moth and that it seemed bigger than it really was because I was so surprised. But, it quickly became apparent that we were not dealing with a moth and after a few screams both of us were out of the room, in the hallway, peering through the glass of the now tightly shut living room door.

The creature was flying in manic circles around the ceiling light and we could hardly make it out. Then, Joe astutely surmised that it was, indeed, a BAT. Yikes-o-rama. (Who has bats in their flat? Me, that's who; there were no fewer than 2 bats in my apartment in St. Louis!). We debated about who was going to take care of this situation and my argument that Joe is the man and therefore required to take care of these sorts of things prevailed (an archaic argument? Perhaps. But, I'm hoping women's lib can forgive me).

Besides, it was worth it to see Joe dressed like this (please note this was in summer, and that it is my jacket and my bike helmet someone is wearing):

Thanks, honey, for saving me from the bat. (And, for not getting mad that I posted this!)