Moth Man

And now back to our weekend...
Sunday was game day, which means big beers, overloaded nachos, and Polish sausage. Thankfully we picked the right day, since the Red Sox won on Sunday and went on to lose 3 out of 4. The game was followed by naps, dinner in, and an Irish pub crawl. We hit up O'Callahan's and the Elephant and Castle before ending up back at Fado with a few other friends. By the way, none of these places actually qualifies as a real Irish pub. They are still fun, but if you want authenticity, check out this crawl.

Monday was slow going, since we were all so stuffed and a bit hungover, but we pulled it together and headed home. We have made the drive between Chicago and Ann Arbor many times, and never stop along the way, so we decided to hit a few "attractions". E and I did a quick wine tasting at Contessa, visited Grandpa's Cider Mill (Which you can skip, since it sucked. We were expecting kitsh at the very least, but got nothin'. The cider in the case was frozen, probably made last year, and it looked like an empty warehouse inside.), and got truffles at the Chocolate Garden, before buying a flat of peaches at Fruit Acres and getting back on the road. We listened to David Sedaris audiobooks and drove into a rain storm. Then we went to bed.

I had hoped this was the end of our saga, since E had a 7:30 AM flight to Charlotte and I had to work, too. Alas. I was startled at 3 AM by my beloved climbing out of bed and slamming full force into the dresser in the dark. He turned on the light and mumbled, "What the hell is that?" Now fully awake, I looked over to the window where he was pointing. Something was stuck in the vertical blinds, flapping against the window and causing a ruckus. It was a moth. Not a city moth, whose growth is obviously stunted by exhaust fumes and smoke, but a farm moth, one grown fat on the honey of apple blossoms until it reaches the size of a small bird. I can only imagine that it had stowed away in the flat of peaches we bought in Coloma, taking a little nap in the sweet-smelling box. Upon awakening in our pitch black kitchen, it must have been totally freaked out. Finding little greenery on the first floor, I'm sure it felt trapped, and careened up the stairway looking for escape. Spotting our bedroom windows, it smelled freedom, and flung itself at top speed into the blinds, where it got stuck and continued flapping like mad.

This brings us up to real time. E grabbed at the moth monster with a tissue, but only succeeded in setting it free. It flew behind the dresser and went silent. Hoping to get back to sleep, E put out the light and climbed back into bed. As if it would be that easy, my love. Literally the instant that I fell back asleep, I was awake again. The sound was like that of a playing card tucked into a spinning bike wheel combined with erratic heartbeats, and I had no idea where the moth was at this point. E got up again and switched on the lamp. Torn between it's desire to live and it's instinct to move towards light, the moth appeared and jumped into the lamp shade. I heard a sizzle, which could only be the tears of the moth hitting the hot bulb, as it realized it had made the wrong choice. E was on him in a second. He marched into the bathroom with the crumpled tissue, flung it down onto the tiled floor and pounded it with his fist before tossing it into the trash. "Are you sure he's dead?" I asked. Somehow I knew the moth was a male. All I could picture was myself, waking later to hear a soft thumping from the cabinet, Edgar Allen Poe style, then opening the door for the moth monster, crazed and desperate, to fly out and attack me in the face.

I never fell back to sleep. I lay in bed for several hours until E left for the airport and then wandered downstairs when my stomach started grumbling. How I could eat after this weekend is a mystery to me. I have yet to open the cabinet and am contemplating ways to avoid it until E gets home on Thursday and can take out the trash. I'm sure I'll be less paranoid once I sleep a little. We'll see.