April 11th, 2002: The other day, Brad officially became...a Bellows. Yeah, that's right, my side of the family has finally rubbed off.
Last night I came home from school and Brad was on the floor in the living room, laying in a fetal position. He was gasping and moaning. Tears streamed from his eyes. He was sweating profusely, and the coughing and wheezing was so bad, he couldn't talk. As I assessed the situation, I realized that this wasn't an emergency, but a blunder that only a true Bellows could ever achieve.
As I looked at the surrounding evidence, my eye landed first on the number of Mountain Dew Code Red cans strewn about the room. Obviously Brad had been studying late the night before, and in his desperation to stay awake, he turned to the life-giving, caffeine filled Mountain Dew. His great downfall however, was his failure to pick up the empty cans. Anyone who has lived in the country can tell you that the sticky sweetness of such a beverage is an overwhelming attraction to ants.
I observed that there had been a great battle here between my husband and the invading creatures... but what I could not comprehend was: how had Brad been reduced to this coughing, gasping, moaning man on the floor?
Had the ants overpowered him? Or had some mysterious mutant ant attacked him with its huge pointy teeth? I tried to ask Brad what happened, but all he could do was shake his head at me and cry. Then I noticed a small cylindrical can lying on the carpet...and I understood what had brought him so low.
In his haste to eradicate the evil infestation of ants from his precious alter of empty cans, Brad had reached for the nearest can of... no not Raid... but the nearest can of mace that he could find (which I keep around for when I have to walk to my car late at night). Unfortunately the poisonous cloud of pepper spray immediately permeated the room, and reduced Brad into a wheezing pile of tears and coughs. Yet another battle lost due to friendly fire.
My family is quite tickled by this new development in Brad...it seems we're slowly rubbing off on him. Brad won't admit it, but I think that maybe, just a bit...he is of our kind.
If you are worried that Bellows might be rubbing off on you or yours, then you might want to watch for some of these symptoms: macing yourself, cutting off fingers, and or appendages, an uncontrollable desire to dig large holes in the front yard, collecting broken down cars, or an unhealthy fascination with model trains. If these symptoms occur, immediately remove the victim from the vicinity of any Bellows and flush with cold water.
Epilogue
Unfortunately, Brad has not quite recovered from this experience. He stockpiles Raid in preparation for another attack. Right now we have six full cans of Raid in the house, and Brad is constantly paranoid.
And Brad has also succumbed to the Bellows curse as far as cutting off fingers is concerned. For those of you who don't know, my father, my grandfather, my grandmother, and four of my uncles have all somehow managed to cut off at least one finger or a portion thereof. Last April, Brad nearly cut off two of his fingers while moving a 500 pound safe. But it wasn't his fault, you see, my dad was the one who dropped the safe on his hand…so I guess you can say that the Bellows curse continues.
And...because I'm that bored with the job search:
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