"DAD! Quick, come up, there's a huge centipede!"
Wrong thing to say. You can call on R in almost any emergency, but he does NOT do centipedes.
Both girls were upstairs, having taken a shower, and were in a panic, towels wrapped around themselves, screaming their heads off. R's response?
"Uh, he's gone out for a walk, sorry."
I went upstairs, shoe in hand, and encountered something like this:
Okay, so it was only about 2" long & didn't have the head of a dragon, but you get the idea. I don't particularly care for the things, but they don't bother me nearly as much as they bother the rest of the crew. I smashed it & it actually sprayed everywhere, which was pretty spectacular.
Once he realized that all the ruckus was over, R came up to "save the day." And was appalled by the mess.
Did anyone call me "hero" or fawn over me? No. I'm just the mom, so I guess this kind of thing is my job. And now N is using this as her latest excuse not to go to bed because she's afraid of another centipede "attack."
Psi. I suppose, as a good Buddhist, I should have scooped the poor thing up & set it down outside. This is one of the advantages of being a mutant instead of a purebred. I can rationalize my way out of certain rules.