Two evenings ago sitting at my desk, I felt a tickle on my right toe which is surprising because that toe has taken every opportunity it has had in forty-four years to demonstrate its target acquisition prowess and I can’t imagine functional nerve endings being present. The awe experienced in pondering the human body’s ability to repair itself lasted less than a millisecond because there was something moving on my freaking toe! Whoever suggested that fear is not a great motivator has obviously never imagined that a venomous Asian snake with a foot fetish has found its way into their room and lay in wait all day for them to settle down and revel in the glory of removing boots and wool socks after a day in the Korean mid-July heat. That motivation sent me skittering backwards at a ridiculous rate of speed that probably destroyed the bearings in my rollie chair’s wheels. I peered under the desk to find my old nemesis and said “So we begin anew” in as wise a sounding voice as one can muster when speaking to a centipede that probably doesn’t understand English. I squished it with a flip flop and didn’t give it a second thought since I’d assumed it was just one that had been sealed into the room after I’d put down the demon-bug repelling salt barriers.
I awoke at five A.M. the next morning to get ready for physical training. The room was still dark when I stepped out of bed to a wet crunch under my right heel which sent me into something like a flat out sprint on my toes. Why was I running? Because there are still several dozen insulted spiders loose in here somewhere. Why on my toes? I have no idea. A better question might be: Why does this keep happening to parts of my right foot? Maybe things find it and it isn’t such an expert finder of things.
The problem presented itself as I left to go to our morning formation. The salt barrier at the door proved just as fragile as any laid down by Sam or Dean Winchester in that a simple scuff of the foot can render them completely ineffective. Some overzealous Lieutenant (LT) had taken it upon himself to sweep and mop the hallways. He is not only overzealous, but also insensitive to others or holds their salt barriers in low regard since he swept mine up. I suppose it could be that he is in league with my mortal enemy.
Note to self: * find out which LTs practice voodoo around here.
Fortunately, answers to my plight have been trickling in from my Face Book news feed. This is where I inadvertently got the salt idea from in a roundabout sort of way. I just needed something a little more LT proof. My cousin apparently read somewhere that millipedes hate wood ash and seek moist earth in which to lay their eggs. I just naturally assumed that the Army would frown upon setting the building alight, so I opted to modify my cousin’s suggestion. I’m not an arsonist. Anymore.
So as it turns out, the military frowns upon lighting fires anywhere near its buildings. It’s probably because they don’t want the North Koreans to think we are so desperate that we have to resort to fire as an energy source. I’ll have to check. My efforts were not a total loss, however. I did manage to create a decent quantity of wood ash which I hurriedly collected while the MPs called off the fire trucks. Ok. That last sentence was not true. Sorry.
Anyway, I think it time we review what we know of millipede demons at this point. 1) They seek moisture. 1-a.) I am 90% moisture. 2) They seek moist soil in which to lay their eggs. 2-a.) I am 10% minerals. AKA: dirt or soil. 3). They hate wood ash. (Probably reminds them of hell).
One plus two equals we are ideal nesting material for pregnant millipedes. This realization became particularly disturbing as I shaved and saw what looked like an insect antenna protrude from my left nostril. (Not on the right side of the body! Yay!). Since I was unable to identify any discernible mammary glands on any of these little freaks, I had no way of knowing which were female. I don’t know how any of them are ever attracted to each other enough to mate. They literally all look the same. I also do not know the incubation period required of their eggs. As it turns out, the antenna was just some random grey hair that decided to uncurl itself overnight. This became painfully obvious as I pulled it out by the root which I am sure was at least very close to the left tear duct if not directly attached.
I digress. Back to millipede factoid number three: They hate wood ash because it reminds them of their terrible home life. I happen to have quite a bit of that! That said, the salt Maginot line was rebuilt safely out of LT reach on my side of the door, and I plan to cover myself from head to sadistic bait toe in a healthy layer of wood ash. Now what to do about these Quisling spiders…