In the early days of our relationship, Ally and I escaped to Franschhoek for a romantic weekend. We’d found a cute, secluded cottage on a farm—the kind of place designed for long, slow mornings.
Our first day began exactly as planned. We woke up in a sprawling, comfortable bed and spent the morning enjoying the rare luxury of being able to laze around. We canoodled, cuddled, and did exactly what loving couples do when they have nowhere else to be.
At around 10:30 AM, we finally decided it was time to face the day. Ally stood up and peeled back the heavy duvet to let the bed breathe.
There, nestled in the warm hollow where we had just been lying, was a scorpion.
It was a small, brown fellow—exactly the kind you don't want to find in your linens. As every South African knows, there are two main types of scorpions: the big, black ones with impressive pincers but a relatively mild sting, and the small, brown ones with tiny pincers and a massive, potentially lethal sting.
Our uninvited guest was the latter.
We stood there in horrified silence, realizing we had spent the last several hours sharing our most intimate space with a high-velocity venom delivery system. The "romantic morning" was instantly replaced by a frantic search for a glass jar.
We eventually caught him, escorted him to a far-off corner of the farm, and asked him very politely to never seek a "threesome" with us again. Thankfully, he took the hint, and it remains the only time in our relationship where we’ve had to worry about a third party in the bed—especially one with a tail.
