attack of the flying insect
I hate bugs. Let me repeat that. I HATE BUGS.
It’s the reason why I don’t like camping, fishing or anything outdoors. Creepy crawlers send me into a scream-a-thon that’ll wake the neighbors because they think someone is being killed or tortured.
I usually enlist my husband to do the killing, while I sit up on the couch pointing and yelling “kill it!!!!” in a panicked tone. When I lived by myself I used to just leave the house, but soon realized that wasn’t the best idea since at some point I will have to come back and the bug will still be there.
So with the weather getting warmer, I knew we would have our fair share of critters like spiders and beatles. Little did I know what was in store for me…
My husband brought it to my attention the day before he was leaving for Boston on a 12 day work training that he had noticed these little bugs that looked like baby roaches and that if they were, we would have a big problem. He says this to a bug schitzophrenic as if it’s no big deal, and just to wait it out. We have needed to get an exterminator out here for some time now, and just kept putting it off. Well I will not be putting it off anymore due to what occured last night.
I had seen these little bugs, but hoped that they were beatles, mosquito eaters or some other non disgusting bug that would just “go away” (can we say naive?) or at least die on its own so I wouldn’t have to take any extreme measures.
As I lay on the couch to watch Dancing with the Stars I see a huge insect fly over my head. “Great, a mosquito” I say to myself, and go about my watching William Levy and Cheryl Burke do a very sexy Argentine Tango. I see it fly to the corner of the room and I yell out the biggest scream that actually set off the house alarm. It’s a gigantic flying cockroach. If there is one insect I hate it is cockroaches, but add wings to that and I’m freaking out.
So with no husband in the city, and my useless dog just watching me from the stairs, I make some phone calls for support. I know I need to kill it and grab the bottle of Raid. I call my mom to help me through it. I find it and decide to drown it with Raid. I have the bottle in one hand and the phone in the other hand while I am screaming. As the roach is swimming in a pool of poison I’m shaking and sweating. The wine rack, wine bottles and wood floor now have been coated with the potent liquid and I have to figure out what to do next. I don’t want to pick it up, but I have to. I call my mom for support, but I can’t do it. I try to pull up my big girl pants but they have run off probably to the same place my dog went. So I call my sister to walk me through this. Well, I try to bribe her first by telling her I’ll buy her anything she wants. She’s not buying it. Dangit. We get a plan together. I get up the courage and get the dead, wet disgusting thing and run (while screaming of course) to flush it down the toilet. Still sweating, heart pounding.
My sister is laughing so hard on the other end and rightfully so. My mom is calm and I can sense her shaking her head with an “ay Sandra” smile on her face. My sister decides to post the text message thread on Facebook and gets 10+ comments on it. It’s a hilarious event for all but me. That’s ok, if it was anyone else I would be laughing too.
My husband needs to come home soon. Like, really soon. I’m calling an exterminator and requesting an emergency visit.
I hate bugs. Let me repeat that. I HATE BUGS.
