The Optimist

I woke up at 6 a.m. on a Friday instead of my usual 10. Two things made this day special: it was New Year’s Eve and I felt overly inspired to use the extra few hours to do a good deed for the world. I had high hopes of ringing in the new year with a spiritual bank loaded with karma. I hopped out of bed, stretched like I was preparing for a marathon run, and went to brush my teeth. As I lathered my pearly whites with minty foam, I thought of what greatness I could accomplish today. Donate a few bags of clothes and shoes to Goodwill? Wash my elderly neighbor’s car? Take my depressed mom to breakfast? Pick up litter on the beach in Galveston? All of the above? Endless possibilities.

As I was nose to nose with the mirror trying to get a stray lash off my eyeball, a soft buzzing noise in my bedroom cracked the silence and distracted my gallant thoughts. I stepped out of the bathroom to investigate because I detested unexplained noises. It took half a second to notice it. Just above the doorway on the other side of the room was a huge reddish wasp, stinger dancing in the breeze, targeting my jugular, no doubt. I froze, eyeing the intruder so hard I’d hoped that, just this one time, looks could actually kill. No luck. Since childhood, I’d been terrified of these things after I’d seen my best friend Tanya get stung on the playground. Her tiny arm reddened and doubled in size as she was allergic. Within minutes hives formed all over her body. I saw with her in the nurse’s office until her mom came to rush her to the urgent care. I might have been less afraid if an actual murderer was in my room. Just the thought of having been asleep and vulnerable while this monstrosity fluttered about my haven gave me face chills.

I thought of cowering in the bathroom, but then I’d lose sight of it and be stuck in there for days or weeks, trying to outlive it. What’s the lifespan of a wasp anyway? I watched it wobble about my room, waiting for it to land somewhere so I could take action. I considered throwing something at it. The closest thing was my laundry basket. Without taking my eyes off the devil, I reached down and grabbed a shirt. I panicked when the thing took a dive toward me, and I threw the shirt at it. Only it wasn’t a shirt. It was my floral-print granny panties that totally missed the target, wafted in the air, and landed on the floor a few feet away like a deflated hot-air balloon.

My enemy had now wandered by the window where it seemed to get agitated in the sunlight. It found its way behind the blinds and was thudding wildly against the glass, probably confused as to why it could see its homeland but remained stuck in this perdition. I thought I saw it stop in one area on the window, so I gave the blinds a hard smack and shoved them into the window hoping to smoosh it. All I did was spook it more, and knock down my blinds, which were now hanging crookedly on one side.

The wicked wobbler now made it around the walls to the bathroom doorway where I’d been standing when I first saw it. We’d both completed a 180. Into the bathroom it drifted. Instinctively, I shut the door and trapped it. Ha! I won. Then I realized I’d need to get in there soon to take a shower and do my make up to prepare for my fabulous, productive last-day-of-the-2020 extravaganza. I paced around my room, around the apartment, called my mom, caught up on Words With Friends, and sat on the edge of my bed for some minutes—give or take a few hours—to formulate a plan. My eyes landed on a 24-pack of Cottonelle mega-rolls I had propped against the wall by my dresser. Another three 24-packs were stacked in my closet. I’d succumbed to the pandemic paper-product panic. I felt shame with every wipe. This was my chance to put those rolls to good use.

I cracked the bathroom door open slowly and looked around for the culprit. I hadn’t heard any buzzing in a while. Then I spotted it. A dark, red blob illuminated against my white wall tiles just above the tub. Bastard! I tiptoed toward the tub, and it zoomed right past my head. I jumped back so hard I tripped over my scale and fell flat on my rump. It hovered by the towel rack, then went right back to the bathtub walls. I crawled out the doorway and ripped the Cottonelle package open. This was war. I stood up, armed with about nine rolls. I gave the monster another killer stare. The moment it sat still, I launched a mega-roll at it with bullet precision. Although, I missed the first time, I continued to aim and fire, aim and fire. Mega-rolls bounced all over the walls and tub. I finally pummeled it head on. It fell but got back up and sat on the rim of the tub opposite the faucet side. I was out of breath and had to pee, so I had to win this and fast. Gazing from the shower head to the enemy’s position, I darted for the lever and pulled it. The shower came on and overpowered the enemy. Its limp body cascaded down the tub wall and onto a sad, soaked mega-roll. I let the water finish my battle. I shut it off only when I was certain it was dead.

I set my bladder free and stayed seated on the water-soaked porcelain for several minutes, looking at the tub full of mushy mega-rolls surrounding the defeated beast. They’d served me well. I walked into my room exhausted. I looked at the mangled blinds, my dirty grannies splattered in the middle of the floor, and the busted open toilet paper package with the remaining dry mega-rolls scattered about. I climbed back into bed. My old-school digital alarm clock said 11:58 p.m.

Thanks to me, 2021 will have one less scary stinger and one less Tanya will suffer.

“You’re welcome, world! Happy new year.” Then, I went back to bed.