Obviously, there are many. But this is a big one, in my opinion.
Last night, Mike and I were innocently reading in bed, prior to falling asleep, halos firmly perched on heads. I'm currently reading the Hunger Games trilogy, and was very absorbed in book #2. Since it's a futuristic novel, I thought perhaps my eyes were deceiving at first, projecting a nightmarish, alien bug from the future onto our wall. But no. It actually *was* a flying insect the size of THE PALM OF MY HAND.
I freeze. I blink. I carefully close my book.
"Yes, I see it. I think it's a moth."
A moth? I'VE SEEN BIRDS THAT ARE SMALLER.
"I don't think that's a moth."
While I tell myself to breathe, Mike is getting out of bed and confidently strutting toward the winged offender in his boxer shorts. You can tell that he's very proud to be fulfilling one of the purposes of his vocation.
He climbs up onto my dresser right near my little porcelain statue of Mary, as I pray for him to be careful. I close my eyes for Murderous Attempt #1, which is a fail. The creature flutters over to the wall above my head.
Quickly, I leap out of bed, lest dead bug debris get into my hair and onto my book, which is borrowed from my friend Stacy. Mike makes the hop over to the bed while my breakable holy reminders breathe a sigh of relief. Murderous Attempt #2 is a success.
"I got him! I still think it's a moth." He checks inside the kleenex, yet another aspect of this extermination role of the husband that I just cannot understand.
"I think that was actually related to a dragonfly, which are ALTOGETHER too large."