The other night, as I was preparing for bed, I made my usual trip to the thermostat to crank up the air conditioning. This nightly ritual follows a familiar sequence: checking the locks, turning off the lights, and giving my son a gentle kiss on the forehead while he sleeps peacefully. As I reached for the touch-screen button, my mind wandered to the new book I had just purchased, desperately hoping it wasn’t still in my car.
I was on autopilot, finger poised to press the button, when I lazily glanced up and was met with a horrifying sight—a SCORPION. It perched ominously atop the thermostat, mere inches from my outstretched finger and staring me directly in the eye. Its yellowish tail was wriggling, and I felt an instant surge of panic. My heart almost stopped.
I absolutely loathe scorpions. If there exists a word stronger than hate, that’s how I feel about them. Sure, I understand they’re living beings on this planet, but they give me the creeps. Go ahead and judge, but I’d cheerfully celebrate if every scorpion vanished from existence. If that were to happen, I’d lead my fellow scorpion-haters in jubilant songs of liberation as we tossed out our black lights, finally able to walk barefoot in our Arizona homes without fear.
Yet here I was, confronted by one of these vile creatures, disrupting my otherwise serene evening. I was terrified, but I couldn’t help but let out a long, drawn-out expletive.
You might think, “Jessica, you’ve lived here for a decade. You’ve encountered scorpions before, this isn’t new.” You’d be right, but the difference this time was that I was single. In previous summers, I could shriek for my ex-husband to come to the rescue with his size 11 cowboy boot, or just trap it under a box and leave it for him to deal with later.
Now, as a newly single woman for a few months, this scorpion represented my biggest challenge since the divorce. Juggling work, parenting my spirited child, and handling the emotional rollercoaster of single motherhood felt like pop quizzes. But this wall-crawling menace? It was my final exam.
I needed to conquer this test. I am a woman, hear me roar… or at least try to suppress the nausea rising in my throat. I dashed to my closet, sifted through my shoes, and selected a sturdy platform wedge. Returning to face my adversary, I took a deep breath, held my shoe high, and counted down nervously. ONE, TWO, THREE—go!
I knocked that little monster off the thermostat and onto the floor. It attempted to flee, but I was determined. There were no songs of freedom tonight; instead, I let out a primal scream—AY-YAY-AY-YAY—and swung that shoe like it was a battle-axe, committed to my mission because it felt like my life depended on it.
The scorpion fell after the first strike, but I wasn’t taking any chances—it got two more whacks for good measure. Three hits, and it was done for.
Victory! I started doing a little celebratory dance (which, admittedly, resembled a mix of awkward wedding moves) when I heard a small, anxious voice behind me.
“Mom, did you get it?” My son stood there in his pajamas, eyes wide with concern. He shares my disdain for scorpions.
“I got it, sweetheart. I was terrified, but I took care of it.”
His expression shifted to relief, and he smiled. “Good job protecting us, Mom! You are a killer of scorpions!”
He rushed over and hugged me tightly. I reminded myself of the lesson I often share with him: true bravery isn’t the absence of fear but doing what needs to be done despite it.
With my arm around him, I looked at my right hand, still clutching my trusty weapon.
I can do this. I can be brave. I am a killer of scorpions.
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Summary
In a humorous and relatable recount, Jessica shares her encounter with a scorpion in her home, reflecting on the challenges of single motherhood post-divorce. Through the experience, she confronts her fears and discovers her inner strength, ultimately finding a sense of accomplishment and bravery in facing life’s unexpected trials.