It had been a long day and I was tired. All I truly wished for was a hot cup of tea and a good book while curled up in my comfy chair; something to soothe my nerves and warm my cold bones. And then I heard the phrase, “blood sponge.”
Devoted Spouse fancies himself something of a survivalist. He sits for hours on end viewing tutorials on his laptop on the Art of Survival. In our garage we have 27,000 bottles of what once were Welch’s Diet Cranberry-Grape Juice but now hold emergency drinking water. And, yes, he rotates the bottles on a regular basis to ensure the water is still safe for drinking. Safety first.
We are ready for the Apocalypse at our house.
I simply wanted to read quietly and contemplate. But no, I had to listen to a man explaining what does and does not constitute an emergency pack and repeatedly use the phrase “blood sponge.” I cringe at the idea that there exists out there in the cosmos something called a “blood sponge.” I simply shudder at the thought. However, Devoted Spouse is convinced it could one day save our very lives.
Looking at my Discover Card bill, I realize there is a very good chance that this household will soon be in possession of the above-mentioned “blood sponge.” One can only imagine what else is winging its way toward me from the Acme Survival Warehouse and Food-Dehydrating Emporium.
Over the years of living with this man I have learned to expect that the garage will hold strange things — pieces of equipment I cannot identify but which one day will save my life if I’m ever in minus 50 degree weather on the side of a mountain and my sherpa has an aneurysm. Should I be in the desert and not be able to find drinkable water, I know that my Devoted Spouse will be able to pull something wonderful out of his survival backpack to quench my thirst while setting the broken leg I got as I bravely tried to run out of the path of a marauding tarantula.
Yes, I know my Devoted Spouse could make any type of shelter necessary; with his 3 million different varieties of survival knives, serrated-edge or otherwise. He can make fire; I’ll never be cold again. He has backpack after backpack filled with emergency medical kits, food in tinfoil packets, and millions of feet of parachute cording. He has fashioned survival dishes out of tins cans once holding peanuts. Yes, my man has the tools and the knowledge derived from many hours spent online, reading survivalist books, and attending conferences and it is comforting to realize that when the Zombies arrive at our door, we have enough ammunition to fend them off.
Most folks dream of retiring in style in a nice warm climate; perhaps Florida close to the seashore. Devoted Spouse dreams of owning acres out west with razor wire surrounding the compound. There goes my condo. But, we will be safe and prepared for any emergency that should arrise. He has the tools. He has the knowledge. He has the autographed books by Dave Canterbury and Cody Lundin (Google them). He can hand-drill fire or use a slingshot to take down big game. I’m confident, should I ever find myself in some outback wasteland and fall into any precarious position whatsoever, Devoted Spouse will have something on him that will once again restore me to safety.
But, really, all I wanted was a hot cup of tea and a good book while curled up in my comfy chair. “Blood sponges” were never meant to be a part of my day…sigh…