#35: Six-Legged Lumps of Ick

You all remember the bat? Oh yes, we alllllllll have fond memories of the bat. Well I have found something much MUCH worse than the incessantly chirping bat. ROACHES. I have ROACHES inside my APARTMENT, my HOME. What the fuck people? This is ME who is fastidious about keeping a clean kitchen; ME who freaks the hell out if Sir dares leave an unrinsed plate next to the sink. How did I get ROACHES?

The first time I ever saw a roach in real life was a few weeks ago standing on my balcony. Sir was a few feet away talking on his new cell phone and I was hanging out, enjoying the view. For some reason I happened to look down just as something about the length of my thumb crawled right up next to my foot. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?" I shouted and jumped toward Sir, who attempted to cover up the phone to filter my profanities, reminding me he was on the phone with his mother (Sorry MamaSir). He looked down briefly and shrugged. "Roach," he said, like it was just a normal, every day experience to see the most disgusting bug in the world traipsing along-side your BARE foot. I shuddered and thought, well at least it's outside.

HAHAHAHAHAHA. When will I learn that I should learn not tempt fate?

Not 4 or 5 days later, Sir was helping me carry groceries into the apartment. We had finally run out of food, and had made a late night run to the store. We snapped the lights on in the kitchen and my eyes landed on the paper towel roll standing upright on the countertop. As I watched, I saw one... two... THREE ROACHES crawl out of the paper towel roll onto my KITCHEN COUNTER.

Now I am usually not the sort to freak out over a bug. I have no problem squishing spiders, or smooshing ants. But those nasty bugs were at least 2 inches long and about an inch or two wide, they carry disease, are just plain ugly, and were CRAWLING on my KITCHEN counters! Where we prepare the FOOD we EAT!!!

People, I screamed. Loudly.

Hopping from foot to foot the only words I could form were, "KILL THEM, KILL THEM, KILL THEM!!!" Sir, bless his heart, grabbed the first bug-fighting weapon he saw, which was a soda cup from a fast food restaurant. I ran into the living room and jumped on top of the couch as he chased after the bugs. He followed the one that had made a beeline for the bedroom and trapped it under the cup.

"What are you doing?!" I cried from my perch, "Don't trap it! KILL IT! KIIIIIIIILL IT!" He gave me a look that quite plainly said, "Do you want to come over here and do this?" and that shut me up right quick, because I most certainly did NOT want to go over there and do that. I was quite content with my couch and the rather large training manual I had grabbed in case smashing something was absolutely necessary. I clutched the manual to my chest and sat down on the sofa, knees to chin and kept vigilant watch of the floor around me. With a shoe, Sir beat the hell out of the one roach he had caught and went in search of the other two, but apparently the sly vermin had scuttled away, one under the dishwasher and one under the stove.

He came and sat down next to me, to try and calm me down, but I was still wild-eyed. "We have to get something to fix this," I said.

"Baby, it's 10:30 on a Tuesday, nothing is open."

"We just came from Harris Teeter*. It's open 24-7. I can't sleep in a house with bugs. I can't sleep with roaches, they'll climb all over me... and ... and I can't sleep with roaches." I rocked back and forth. My heart was pounding and my eyes wouldn't close, for fear I might miss seeing one of the roaches advancing. I imagine this is what drug addicts feel like when they're in that paranoid high and start scratching themselves maniacally.

Sir saw there would be no rest until I felt we had won back control from the invading bugs. So we returned to the grocery store. We found the aisle with the bug sprays and traps and Sir asked which one I wanted. Apparently "All of them." was not the answer he was looking for, so he squatted down and read each of the labels, carefully considering which would be most appropriate for our situation. I stood behind him with my arms wrapped around my chest, wondering which part of my home those filthy little creatures were crawling around in now.

He finally picked out a spray, that was not only supposed to keep the bugs away, but kill them on contact. At home, he gently led me back to my good friend, the couch, and sprayed the entire perimeter of the kitchen, bathroom, and entry way as I watched to make sure he didn't miss any corners. The apartment reeked of pesticides (yummy for your tummy!) but, in my mind, it was way better than having the apartment teaming with roaches. I still did not sleep much.

The next mourning, I crept out of bed and turned on the bathroom light to find a roach lying on it's back. I tried to be a big girl and not shriek like a baby as I pulled 10 ft of toilet paper off the roll so I could pick up and dispose of the roach body. As I neared it though, that fucking little ick jumped back onto it's feet and started running toward me. I let out a "Meep!" as I hopped over the bug and ran into the kitchen to get the big green Can O' Poison. I sprayed that sucker until every one of his appendages stopped quivering. Then I beat him with a flip flop. Then I took the 10 ft wad of toilet paper, picked up the carcass and went "Ew ew ew ew ew ew" all the way to the toilet and flushed him.

Since then we have laid traps (eight, in all), had the apartment professionally sprayed, and sprinkled the bathroom, laundry closet, entry way, kitchen and widows with Boric Acid (which is apparently the internet's roach killer of choice). We have since seen only two bugs - one live one that, thankfully, Sir killed and only told me about afterwards, and a dead one that was really dead, instead of merely pretending to be so.

I hate those foul creatures SO, SO much. I'm checking around corners in my apartment, refusing to enter dark rooms before the light is switched on, and muttering prayers when I pick a towel or piece of clothing up off the floor. I could live my entire life contentedly never seeing another roach. My hairdresser says they're especially bad this year because the winter here was so mild. This was an adverse affect of mild winters that I did not take into account when deciding to move. Mama Sir assures me that even the best of homes in the south suffer from roach infestations and that this is not God commenting on my housekeeping skillz. And while I guess that's comforting, battling a roach infestation is definitely NOT the way I pictured my life down here. Although I do admit, it makes for excellent Column fodder.

*Local grocery store chain whose name makes me giggle.

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