As a woman, I’m all for the idea of the modern woman being powerful, strong, and capable of kicking butt; but at the same time, I like the idea of the strong, protective, alpha male who swoops in to save the day.
I was babysitting my niece and nephew on their first day of summer vacation yesterday. All was swell and dandy until I glanced over and spotted an ant making its way across the couch adjacent to mine. Now for as long as I can remember, I have always been deathly afraid of ants. But fear not!
My five year old nephew comes running and giggling over to the couch, looks at the ant, grabs his puzzle box, and starts whacking the ant with the thing for a good minute or two. During the whole time, he’s giggling and just having a grand ole time. When he finally stops, I ask him, “is it dead?” He says, “yeah! It’s not moving!” If the thought of a live ant freaks me out, you can imagine I don’t find the thought of a dead ant all smushed much more pleasant. So naturally, my very adult response is to say, “Ew, gross.” My nephew then reassuringly says, “oh, you just need this!”, and runs across the room to grab a random sheet of foamy material that was lying on the floor to use to grab the ant. I tell him that I have a napkin, and he exchanges the foamy paper for the napkin and proceeds to remove the smushed ant from the couch. Yes, I gave my nephew the napkin to pick up the dead ant instead of electing to do it myself. I hate ants. Sue me. I tell him he can now throw it in the trash can in the kitchen, and he happily trots off, giggling and screaming, to dispose of the ant.
My little man saves the day.