My wife is out of town and, mostly, I’m okay with it.  The one issue: who will kill the centipedes?  In a startling reversal from traditional gender roles, I’m forced to admit that a certain someone else is the centipede exterminator in the family.  I know this lowers my stature in the eyes of my traditional Dutch ancestors, where the male was always the insect killer, but I do not abdicate my calling without cause.  I’m an inept bug killer.  They generally get away from me.  I can’t kill a fly with a $20 swatter, while my wife, Nancy, can catch them with her bare hands, and subsequently provide safe transport and release to a new, carefree life in the great outdoors. Flies aren’t…