When life brings you a bat, you call a guy to catch it for you. Or you hope it hits the ceiling fan.
When you’re 20-something, ridiculous things just tend to happen for no particular reason.
It’s like the universe’s way of making us pay our dues.
The other night I had an incident.
A creepy winged beast, also known as a bat, somehow — and I have no idea how — made its way into my bedroom uninvited.
How rude.
It soared back and forth above my brand new big girl bed, as I pulled the covers over my head, petrified with fear.
I managed to locate my phone and summon a male friend to capture the evil creature.
(In the meantime, my mom recommended swatting at it with a broom.)
The problem: My friend ended up being almost as scared about the situation as me.
We both ended up hiding under the covers for a solid ten minutes.
Then, BAM!
The thing flew right into the ceiling fan and fell to the floor.
We trapped the creature between a tupperware container and a folder as it hissed wildly.
The beast found itself tossed into the street. It flew away.
Throw grapes at the beast!!!! Shine a light on the critter!!! Stab it with a wooden cross? Shot it with a silver bullet? Mmmm, it’s one of those…I think. Don’t bother me…I’m going back to my casket until dark.
Barry! You crack me up.