Kendrick is my hero. He carries stuff, drives me home after weddings while I sleep, and kills bugs. Lots of them. That look of determination when he steels his gaze in the direction of the seething, crawly hellspawn while rolling up a People magazine into a wife-defending implement of destruction. That masculine grunt as he launches himself up onto the countertop in a gallant effort to access the uppermost crack between curtains and ceiling. The bugs cannot escape him. They cannot hide from my husband, the hero.
Even if there is no magazine nearby, he does not falter. He steps between me and the vicious monsters, rolling up his sleeves. I hide my eyes, I hear a thud, and then I see him, washing his strong, brave, Stallone-esque hands in the sink. Calmly, steadily, he says to me: “Nothing to worry about anymore, my darling, my angel.” Spiders, ants, cockroaches…nothing stops him. My husband, the fearless warrior. My hero.
This post is for you, my love.
(By Kendrick Strauch.)
Yeah, so what happened was that an enormous black beetle flew in through the window of the car into my face. I lost my goddamned mind and threw myself out the door while the car was still in motion.