After my husband decided that it was okay for his family to know we were dating {and see us hold hands, even}, we began spending a lot of time at his house {because any excuse to get out of Rexburg, ID is a good one}.
Most of the time we just did a lot of homework.
One day, while in the basement, I went to plug in my laptop behind their couch.
Tyrel looked up and said, "Don't plug it in back there. That's where I just killed a hobo."
Tyrel looked up and said, "Don't plug it in back there. That's where I just killed a hobo."
He then casually turned back to his homework.
Waaaaait.
Whaaat?
You killed a homeless man!?!?!
And you are not even concerned about it?
{Now, I didn't really think my husband had killed someone, but play along with me.}
A few weeks later, we were talking about the change in weather, and he said, nonchalantly, "I guess it will be time soon to put out the hobo traps."
What is it with you Idahoans and these poor people?
What did they ever do to you?
And what is a hobo trap?
A cage with a Big Mac dangling from a string?
"Why do you have to set out a trap?"
{Still honestly confused}
"Because they will chase you. And if they bite you, you could die."
Man. I wouldn't want to live in the city.
"Do you want to see one?"
Well, shoot.
I guess.
We go back downstairs, and Tyrel pulls out a piece of white paper.
And I see something like this:
Eww.
Apparently, a hobo isn't a man named Hank, but rather a disgusting spider.
Google them.
They are nasty.
And huge.
And, yes. They do chase you.
And, yes. They do chase you.
From experience.
I wasn't ever scared of bugs.
In fact, I grew up with a freezer full of them {that sounds gross?}, thanks to my Mom's degree.
I remember going fossil hunting as a family {and, yes, my family is much cooler than yours} and my mom sending us running for our lives after another crazy insect, Bell jar in one hand and the lid covered with a paper towel in the other.
We caught the coolest bugs.
And then my mom would freeze them {or send them to a different agonizing death via alcohol-drenched-cotton-ball in the jar}.
And then my mom would freeze them {or send them to a different agonizing death via alcohol-drenched-cotton-ball in the jar}.
After they had bid their fond adieus, she would carefully press the wings flat and pin them in our bug collection.
We would get out the insect guides and figure out exactly what we had caught.
Eventually, our collection looked something like this:
Eventually, our collection looked something like this:
...except bigger.
With more bugs.
{The best part about this collection, by the way, is that while all of my friends had to catch bugs for their High School Biology bug collections, I relaxed and just took our collection with me the day the project was due. with me to school. A+? Yeah. Definitely.}
Thus, bugs never scared me.
But now.
Oh gee.
Oh gee.
I jump every time I think I see something dark across the carpet.
And I'm scared that now I might be a little scared of bugs.
Sorry, Mom.
Idaho corrupted me.
