Opinion

It Isn’t Often I Get To Be My Wife’s Hero

I was sitting at our dining room table hunched over a large beetle. My wife, Mel, was standing. In her right hand was a brown cardboard box full of vials.

Each vial held a different bug.

Some were spiders (although we had recently come to understand that spiders were not, in fact, bugs, but arachnids), some were bees, or flies, or unknown. Mel was in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair pulled back, and her nose scrunched up.

She didnt care much for the smell.

Its so slippery, I said. I cant get ahold of it.

Be careful, she said.

If you break off its legs, you will have to glue them back on with nail polish. The professor said she would notice any missing parts.

This is so morbid, I said.

Mel didnt say anything, but I could feel her looking at me. She was a mix of insistence, she needed me to do this, but at the same time, compassion. She knew I didnt care much for bugs. Mel was in her final year of her horticulture degree. The dead bugs, vials, pins, nail polish, all of it, were part of a bug collection for her entomology class.

She needed to collect about 30 bugs, which meant that every Saturday for the past three Saturdays, Id been pinning bugs.

Mel and I had been married for almost 11 years, and in that time, I have learned that Mel hates bugs. She squeals at the sight of them. I also hate bugs, particularly spiders. They make me queasy. But me, being the man in the relationship, have been thrust into the role of bug squisher (even spider squisher).

Its common to see me nervously hunched over a spider in the bathroom, a wad of toilet paper in my right hand, Mel behind me, fearfully pointing at the bug as if shes pointing at a sniper. And once I get it, and squish it, and flush it down the toilet Mel, always says, Youre my hero. Theres something very satisfying about that.

The funny thing is, in this day and age, where I spend most of my days typing on a computer or buying food at a store, it isnt too often that I get to feel like Mels hero.

I dont get to go out in the woods and kill an animal and bring it home like some sort of hero. Most of my contributions take the form of sitting in an office and collecting a check. This is not to say that this isnt necessary, but it isnt particularly masculine. When I kill a bug for my wife, though, she looks at me like I came between her and a bear, and despite how much I dislike bugs, the look of gratitude makes it worth it.

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But catching a bug and quickly flushing it is far different when compared to the intimacy of holding a bug, shoving a pin through it, and then gluing any missing limbs back onto it.

I wondered if wed moved into some new stage in our marriage.

Why does it smell so bad? I asked.

I found it drowned in a bucket of rain water. I dont know how long it had been there. But its a really great beetle! she said. She went on, telling me what kind of beetle it was. She seemed to be really into this class. She would point out bugs, tell me the make and model. Tell me all sorts of intimate details about the bug, how it ate, how it made love, how it had babies Her bug knowledge had gone up exponentially.

If you find this sucker so interesting, why am I the one pinning it?

Mel scrunched up her nose. That would be icky, she said.

How did you get it out of the bucket? I asked.

I used a stick and some tweezers, she said. I didnt touch it at all. She said it like I was supposed to be impressed, and had I not just broken the antenna off the sucker, I might have been.

And as I shoved a pin through the beetles right shoulder, like the instructor wanted, and felt the crunch of its exoskeleton, gagged a little, and then used nail polish to glue its antenna back on, I thought about how much I loved my wife.

If you find this sucker so interesting, why am I the one pinning it?

I suppose this is what true love looks like. It isnt always as heroic as you see in the movies. Sometimes true love takes the form of cleaning the toilet, or vacuuming out the car, or changing a particularly poopy baby. Sometimes it means getting up in the night and driving to Taco Bell for a late night pregnancy craving, or making your partners favorite meal even though you hate it. Sometimes it means saying, Im sorry when you dont feel like you did anything wrong, but you know that your partner is hurt. And in this case, it meant hunching over a dead bug, and pinning it, so my wife can earn her degree.

Does the antenna look right? I asked.

Mel leaned in a little closer, but not too close. I think so, she said. Now pin it in the Styrofoam with the others.

I did, and she kissed the top of my head. Then she handed me a wasp in a plastic vial.

Be carful with the wings. And dont let it sting you.

Its dead, I said. Can it still sting?

Mel shrugged.

I let out a breath.

Then Mel said in a singsong voice, I love you.

When hes not saying insane things to his kid, Clint Edwardsswork has been featured on Good Morning America, The New York Times, The Washington PostandThe Huffington Post. Hes the author of the new bookThis Is Why We Cant Have Nice Things.

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