Jamalyn (jamalyn) wrote,

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They CAN fly!!

This past week has been extraordinarily harrowing. Why you ask? It’s simple really. I had a run in with one of the nastiest creatures on the face of this earth—the cockroach.

Now there are people who will tell you that cockroaches are harmless little bugs eking out an existence like the rest of us. However, I do not believe that people willing to say that have ever actually seen the type of cockroaches we get around here.


And that would, of course, be the understatement of the year. :) Suffice it to say that I’ve never known larger. And, unlike many cockroaches, these do not scurry away when you flip on the light. No. They attack.


I caught one such bug in my bathroom. Now I am not a squeamish person. Spiders do not bother me. I have a communal living agreement with the ants. As a young student I would often go on playground hunting trips in search of old locust exoskeletons so that I could snag them on the nun’s habits. They most certainly were squeamish people and I hope that they never figure out just who was doing the so-called deed.

But cockroaches are, always have been and forever will be the exception to my “Bugs Are Okay!” rule. So it takes all the guts I have just to stand in the bathroom doorway and go, “Shoo, shoo. Fall into the toilet. Shoo. Just commit suicide, everyone’s doing it. Shoo. Shoo.”

As you might be able to guess this method did NOT work. Apparently cockroaches are immune to peer pressure. That, or he did not consider me a peer. Damned snobby cockroach.

So I institute plan number 2.

I shut the bathroom door, shove a towel in the gap underneath and get on the phone. The first person I call is an old friend, whose only response when I begged her for help was a shocked, “I don’t kill those things. J. [the husband] does it for me.” When I suggested he come do it for me, she just snorted and told me that he was not for hire. Damned snobby friends. :) This cements it. She’s getting Barney tapes for her next birthday.

Next I tried a male friend, a big, southern, good ol’ boy, male friend. His response was: “Ewwwwwww! No! They pop when you squish ‘em! Eww! Eww! Eww!” And this, kids, is why we cannot rely on stereotypes.


So lets recap. I’ve cornered a cockroach in my bathroom. I have no friends who care enough to help. I have two choices: wait for the cockroach to die of starvation or come up with a plan 3.

A quick search of internet sources tells me that if I do indeed choose to kill via starvation, I may very well be waiting until the second coming. Not an option. I will have to make use of that bathroom at sometime.

So I do the only other thing that my fear-riddled brain can come up with. I call the Orkin Man and request that the entire apartment be exterminated. And I am in luck. They can make it out that afternoon.


There no describing the relief just such a manly-man can bring. (Eat that B., you milksop!) I sign the appropriate papers, bid a final farewell to my friends the ants, who will, no doubt, also be effected by what ever this hero is going to spray about my home. Just before I step outside to allow him to do his duty I beg, in my most lady-like southern belle voice, “I’ve got a big one trapped in the bathroom. Can you kill him too?”

He assured me that he could and most certainly would. I think he was doing his best not to actually laugh at me when I was standing right there and I appreciate his sense of gentlemanly decorum.

And so ends the harrowing tale. IT is gone, thank God. Also, unfortunately, gone are my ants, but I think I saw one peaking around the door jam last night. Maybe one day, they will forgive my murder of their brethren and return. After all, I’m sure even ants would agree that, at least in this case, the ends justified the means.

Which Fruits Basket Character are you?


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