Not nearly ready to stand at the ready — with brooms and mouse traps — like my mother and twin sister — I hid — and watched — mostly — from under the couch.
My mother had on her heaviest winter coat — in the middle of summer — and yellow rubber kitchen gloves — sopping wet.
My twin sister looked spacey — like an alien — with that old wicker basket — covering her head — strategically secured with duct tape. My duct tape. That’s my neon blue duct tape!
I could hardly barely speak with those two scarves wrapped around my neck — squeezed so tight — under the couch — in the living room — hands full of garlic — like grenades, I thought.
Mosquitoes here are always bad — snakes are worse — but that hellafied summer — we had bats. Tons of bats. Millions of bats. A house full of bats — it seemed.
Actually — it was just three.
And I named them Ding, Ling and Shirley.