Romancing The Orkin Man

I just wrapped narration on a very sultry story by Vivian Arend called ONE WILD RIDE. Let’s just say, it’s not about a ride in a station wagon. Unless by station wagon, you mean cowboy. So let’s say my mind was in another place. I tell you this, because when the Orkin Man showed up to talk about the couple of ants I’ve noticed in the house, and he arrived wearing very tight pants, a belt, and his white shirt stretched taut against his bulging-man-muscles, and his tag said BED BUG EXPERT, I thought, Oh, I just bet you are. And I purred that thought. I did. Also, he was young and wearing a lot of cologne.

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Now, I wasn’t attracted to him. Not really. But there was an awareness that this dude could be on the cover of a romance novel. Just unbutton a couple of those buttons and have him hold his bug sprayer ‘just so’ and blammo! Every housewife’s dream.

My friend showed up around that time and we let the Orkin Man do his stuff and I tried to ignore the inner romance writer in my mind. Though I did notice that there was a strange breeze ruffling his slight disheveled hair. As if a fan was blowing.


So my friend and I visited, and then the Orkin Man interrupted me. “I’ve got some rather important questions,” he said. And suddenly, he was like some hardboiled detective investigating a crime. “If you’ll follow me,” he said, and I did. My friend followed too and she shot me a look. I tried not to notice.

We stood in the hallway. Was it hot? I think his pectoral muscles flexed. He pointed to the bedroom. “Do you see any action in there?”

And I gasped. I did. “Uhmmm. What?”

“Action. With the ants. You said there were two ant sightings in the hallway, but have you seen any activity in your bedroom?”

Boy have I! I wanted to say, but we were still talking about ants.

“Oh. No. Nope. There has been no action or fatalities or whatever in my bedroom.”

He ignored me and went on a very lengthy explanation about carpet ants and how their bodies were big and swollen because THEY LIKED TO MUNCH. ON WOOD. And I just started giggling. I did. They were the tremor kind of giggles. I could feel my friend’s eyes burning into me. She knew. She knew what I was thinking!

I’m not sure if he mentioned a bush, but he did mention trimming and I laughburped. God, I hate when I laughburp. I apologized. He looked hurt. He looked…I think…like he felt like the housewives he visits, never take him seriously. They never listen to his knowledge of pests and their need for eradication, and how he knows how to do that. They just look at his tight pants.

I prayed for him to stop talking. Eventually he did. I thanked him for coming. Over. To my house. To deal with the ants.

I really should not talk to other people. It’s just not wise.


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