Warrior

I was groggily making coffee this morning when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up at the ceiling and saw something reddish-brown waving in the air vent. I immediately thought it must be a roach. What else could have possibly reached the vent in the ceiling? And it looked big. Nasty big. Trying my best to suppress the burgeoning panic, I go in search of the broom. I bang the broom handle into the metal grate and watch the nasty creature move slowly to the other side of the vent.

Instantly, my mind pictures masses of giant roaches crawling through the air ducts. I briefly entertain the idea of cranking up the heat, wondering if it would be hot enough to cook them. I imagine masses of vile insects crawling from every vent in the house to escape their sadistic fate. I shudder at the thought. Maybe it’s just the one. I can pretend I never saw it. But what if it’s pregnant with tiny roach babies? Ok, maybe if I bang it really hard it will fall out and I can kill it. I prepare for battle.

I lay my tools out on the kitchen island. Sargent swat (the supersonic fly swatter made of hard rubber) sits next to the paper towels and Clorox kitchen and counter spray for its proper disposal. This has to be quick. If it crawls under something, the mission will be a horrendous failure. My brain will constantly flash on pictures of it crawling on me wherever I go. Not knowing where it is worse than looking at it. I sing the first verse of Eye of the Tiger to psych myself up. I grasp the broom in my sweaty, shaking hands, take a deep breath and give the vent several quick, hard whacks. The offending creature falls to the floor.

My body betrays me and I react like a scared little girl. I let out a squeal that I should be ashamed of, but I’m not, and franticly brush my body and generally flail in place. After my quick outburst I calm myself and look for the roach which is probably long gone by now. I gather the courage to direct my eyes toward the floor.

And there it sits. Half a cinnamon stick I stuck in the air vent last year for spicy goodness. I take a deep breath and return my heartbeat to a normal rhythm. I carefully place all my roach hunting tools back where they belong.

I pick up the cinnamon stick and sniff it. I should put a new one in the vent. This one doesn't smell anymore. 

Shower Dance

Ever since the great flood, we have been chasing creepy crawly uninvited guests out of the house. I understand that they are just seeking shelter, but this one is occupied. They really need to move on. 

So yesterday I had just stepped into the shower and as I starting working the water through my hair I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. I focused on the blur and there it was, between the shower curtain and liner. A roach the size of my thumb. I’m totally not exaggerating. Hold up your thumb. Go ahead, I’ll wait. Hold up your thumb and picture two giant waving antennae growing out of the top of it. Gross, right?  At first I couldn’t move.  I was shocked out of my paralysis when it started to inch up the curtain. It was nearly to the top and the last barrier between me and that vile creature was quickly diminishing.

“DEEEEEWIE! HEEEEEEEELP!”

“What?”

“HELP ME! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  She runs in the bathroom.

“Giant roach coming over the curtain. I don’t know what to do. I’m naked and wet and it’s gonna get me!” She peeks into the shower.

“Ooooh yeah. That’s a big one.” Why is she talking all calm like that? This is an emergency!

“GET IT!”

“Where’s Sgt. Swat?”

“On top of the fridge. HURRY!” Dewie disappears. The roach reaches the top of the curtain. “DEWIE! IT’S COMING OVER THE TOP! IT’S COMING OVER THE TOP! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! WHAT IF IT GETS ON ME?” The roach hangs there with its little sticky legs hanging over the top, waving its gross long antennae menacingly.

“Well at least turn the water off. Why are you saying everything twice?”

“I DON’T KNOW! ” Dewie draws back like she’s going to smack it. “YOU CAN’T SMACK IT THROUGH THE CURTAIN; YOU’RE JUST GOING TO FLIP IN ON ME! IT’S GONNA GET ON MY LADY BUSINESS! OH GOD WHAT IF IT GETS ON MY LADY BUSINESS?!?!”

“Just be still and get out of the way.”

“How can I be still AND get out of the way? Put a towel down so I can get out of..” Dewie smacks the roach. It tumbles into the tub, still very much alive. Panic moves my ass. While releasing a squeal I’m not particularly proud of, I shove Dewie out of the way and tear out of the shower, dripping water all over the place. As I stand there making a puddle I start channeling the Cobra Kai Sensei. I can’t stop yelling, “FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!”

Dewie recovers from the shove and smooshes that bastard on the bottom of the tub, and then throws him in the toilet.

“Flush it twice, just in case.”  She flushes the roach down the toilet.

“You ok?”

“I’m not sure. Beat the curtain and make sure there aren’t anymore.”

“It’s fine. Finish your shower.”

And I did. Nervously. I did almost bust my ass when I saw the little magnet thingy in the bottom of the liner. But I recovered. Barely.