Scareapalooza | 1999 - Present

For years Terry and I have taken turns attempting to scare the living shit out of one another, then laugh hysterically in the other's face if we succeed.

It's true love people. True love.

Yesterday, I'm minding my own business, sitting in our office wandering the Internet, when I hear the door to the garage slam shut. Terry is walking toward me with the girls trailing behind. He presents to me (ONE INCH FROM MY FACE) a clear container housing a monstrous WOLF SPIDER. For a brief moment, I actually leaped out of my skin and came close to severing my spinal cord with the back of the chair trying to get away from him and the Furry Monster. Why must it have FUR?? And bunches of eyeballs? And stare at me with all of them while telepathically relaying the fact it's about to slither out of it's temporary habitat, jump across the room into my hair and burrow inside my brain?

Terry's up, one nuthin'.

I give the man credit, his patience and level of creativity with this game are exceptional.

Last summer I was outside in the driveway washing my car and came back inside sweating bullets. I approached the kitchen island and reached for the drink I had previously made. Upon lifting the glass to my mouth, I found a LOCUST'S EMPTY EXOSKELETON hanging by its crispy front legs from the side of my glass. I had no voice for the next two days as my vocal chords were shredded due to my responding with repeated violent shrieking. And hitting. There very well may have been hitting involved. Most likely. Probably.

He takes complete advantage of me. He knows bugs are my weakness. Even dead ones. I mean, who's to say they can't suddenly come back to life as you're reaching with toilet paper in hand to pick them up!?  I just don't risk it. He's the Bug Getter. Dead or alive. It's in our marriage agreement.

Even my Grandmom has taken advantage of my fear of anything with more than 4 legs. She's chased me around with a cockroach in her hand, all six legs wriggling and wings flapping as I screamed bloody murder and threatened her bodily harm. She just giggled then flushed it down the toilet. I didn't pee for days.

Speaking of peeing... ha ha...years ago at our old farm, we had a little guest house we would hold birthday celebrations and summer gatherings inside. One afternoon, we were all inside the house when we heard my Grandmom scream. She busted out of the bathroom yelling that something had "brushed up against her" while she was using the bathroom. Uhh Muhh Gawd. We went to take a look and found a big ass water moccasin swirling around in the toilet. That would have kept me from using that toilet forever if that shit happened to me. Never mind that tiny cockroach. Heebie jeebies, much?

I have successfully scared the shit out of Terry only a handful of times. There was the time I jumped out of a dark hallway after he thought I'd long gone to bed. That got him good. RRREAL GOOD. He looked like an Olympic Gymnast leaping backwards at least 5 feet.

(I preface this next story with noting I have a slight obsession with Q-tips and use them everyday, pulling and twisting the end then attempting to feel the inside of my brain.) Terry and I lived together in an apartment while we were engaged and after us staying in and drinking a bit too much, I emerged from the bathroom with one of my trusty Q-tips in hand, blood running out of my ear and down the side of my face. I ran up to him and told him I'd shoved it in too far and felt something burst and was in excruciating pain. Knowing that he couldn't drive and I was in need of serious medical help, it was hilarious, and to date, my best scare yet. I allowed the fear simmer a little while before I let him in on my fun with ketchup.

To date, he has definitely won more Scare Awards than I have.

But that's okay because as much as I hate the game, I love it.