A few nights ago, a bat fell out of the ice rain onto my jogging hoodie. It scrambled under my left armpit and began to groom itself there, upside down. I say “groom itself” but I have no idea what kind of batty things were going on, except for this moonstruck energy in a ticklish region. I jogged along, giggly, a bat clinging to my armpit, in the ice rain.
There were, like, twenty stoic deer between me and the woods along Mass Ave., some with antlers. The deer looked at me like it was crazy to be anything but a deer in the ice rain, or any other night-weather. So, I slugged the bat with a fast hook to its little upside-down head. It didn’t fly away. It dropped behind me. I heard it plop into an icy puddle.
I thought the bat might flap me down, so I ran hard, but no fangs nipped my neck, trying to Dracularize me. I jogged past the newly-erected statue of Nelson Mandela, his fist raised, bouquets at his feet. It seemed disrespectful to have clubbed a mammal near the memorial for such a peaceful man, but that’s life—if you’ve got a bat on your hoodie!
The next day, I went to market, so I might select a roasting fowl. I got distracted by all the roaming these fowls had gotten over on the fowl farmers. Several fowls had free-roamed the barn. Other fowls had free-roamed the range. They were expensive, on account of roaming fees. Yet not free enough: one of them birds went into my stew pot.
Yes, I stewed a roasting fowl. (FML but it was good!) I spent the rest of the day improving my skill sets: my Reaction to Annoyance, Analysis of Crucial Sporting Play, and Drinking Buddy skills. In particular, my Drinking Buddy skill set has come a long way. Tell salty joke; pretend to hear above din; tap shot on bar before shooting. Yep.
I would like to issue a statement about the bat: It probably fluttered into a tree. I doubt its night was terribly unusual. While bats probably don’t spend much time in armpits they do spend half their lives stunned by human reactions. Would I do anything differently next time? Yeah, I would. I’d throw that bat on those deer. Those deer were, like, far too stoic!