Blog: Dead Because Of Me
(originally written 5/11/16)
Yesterday, I went through my usual basketball exercise routine for about an hour-and-a-half or so.
As a fat man with little hair, it doesn't take much exertion to be blinded by overflow perspiration—for this reason, I always wear a sweatband when on the court. Today was no exception. (Among my many fashion faux pas as a twentysomething: wearing one of these in everyday society. Those old photos are cringe-worthy today. But I'm not here to talk about the past.)
At what was slated to be my workout's intermission, I parked myself on the bench and squeezed out my saturated sweatband. I know, EWWW, you'll never shake my hand again, blah blah blah. Judge not, people.
The moisture formed a roughly 2x3 inch stain on the ground. About two minutes later, a roly poly (aka pill bug) meandered into the vicinity. I'd noticed it when I first sat and tracked its long, circular path first toward the court, then back toward my bench.
Lively and energized, the roly poly was on some sort of solo bug mission, not unlike the SEALS who took out Osama. In fact, its methodical navigation of a a pavement crack conjured images of U.S. soldiers conquering the wall around the bin Laden compound.
Unlike those SEALS, this roly poly never completed its mission.
The critter took two steps into my sweat stain and died on the spot.
No pun intended.
You know, I'm aware my perspiration isn't what anyone would call "delectable". But I never thought it'd be toxic. After all, between sports, work, sex and job interviews, I've sweat on a lot of people a lot of times. Gross? Sure. Fatal? To my knowledge, never.
This bug, however, just wasn't strong enough.
Adding insult to injury, RPs have a special meaning to me, as they were adored by my late cousin Ashanti. In fact, six weeks ago on what would have been her 39th birthday, one of them crawled on my daughter's finger out of the blue, almost like Ashanti reaching out from above to a relative she didn't live long enough to meet...via roly poly proxy. (image at lower left)
And now I've gone and offed one with my sweat stain death ray. (image at lower right)
I poked it a couple of times to make sure it wasn't just knocked out. It gave no sign of being just knocked out.
Remember how I said that break was only supposed to be intermission? Well, I didn't feel much like going on after what happened, so in addition to terminating a bug's life, I terminated my workout and headed home—all the while wondering when I'll take out a moth with a burp, or when a goat will keel over after sniffing my spit.