Happy Hour cocktails have become a Friday ritual in Harper’s Valley. Kobalt, a local watering hole catering to nature’s bachelors and their familiars, is not too far from Harper’s Other Dad’s office so we can often be found there early Friday evenings with others of our ilk plotting the gay agenda. The gay agenda, in this case, involved looking at photos of a new rescue dog two shameless sodomites had adopted to celebrate their 26th anniversary. Further demonstrating that our depravity knows no bounds, there were also discussions of auto accidents, bowling, traffic and the weather. All of these topics paled, however, compared to the real excitement of the evening.
When I arrived at the bar I was in line to get a drink and chatting with an acquaintance. Having failed to bring much cash, I decided to start a tab so I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. As I opened it to get a credit card, a brown scorpion ran out of the wallet and on to the bar. A live scorpion!…..in my wallet!!….. in my pocket!!!
Uttering something along the lines of; “oh my goodness gracious”; (it might have been slightly more colorful than that) and feeling like the kid who brought the lice into the kindergarten class, I scooped the killer critter into a nearby wastebasket, apologized profusely to those sitting at the bar, gave the bartender a generous gratuity and walked to a nearby table of friends with as much dignity as one can muster having just pulled a venomous arthropod out of ones butt.
Finding the occasional scorpion is to be expected when living in the desert. I have encountered a few. I have never carried one around on my person, however; at least not to my knowledge. This causes me to wonder how such a thing came to pass. Prior to being in my pocket, my wallet had been sitting on top of the washing machine. The surface is white enamel, several feet above the floor and in a well-lit room so it seems unlikely for satan’s crafty minion to have hitchhiked into my pocket with the wallet. A second possibility is the varmint crawled into my pocket while I was driving. This seemed unlikely but I checked under and around the car seat just to be sure. No evidence was to be found.
I’d pulled clean cargo shorts out of a drawer just before putting them on so I thought I should check the drawer to see if there were signs of venomous life among the sportswear. I removed each article of clothing from the drawer and shook it out. I am both happy and disappointed to write that I found nothing living.
I did, however, find something most venomous indeed; my Sarah Palin Tea Party t-shirt. This must be the what spawned the evil critter. I’ll call an exterminator on Monday. There are many in this area. Finding a shaman or exorcist may take more time.