So I think I have mentioned previously my illogical and very serious fear of roaches. I am lucky that we don’t see them too often, but being that this is the SOUTH, you can’t fully avoid the devilish creatures.
And when they do make an appearance, you can rest assured that I am screaming, squeezing my eyes shut, and climbing on the tallest piece of furniture available, simultaneously.
Luckily, for his heart’s sake, Chris has learned that this reaction is not because a burgler just broke in, or a gunshot came through the window, or any other such serious tragedy. It just means that I need him to be my knight in shining armor and kill the roach.
Because, literally, I cannot make myself get near enough to kill it. I can’t even get myself to throw a dead one away, even if I know it’s been dead for days and I have a whole roll of toilet paper to guard my hand from his dead body. I can’t do it.
So anyway, all that to say. . . .
It was around midnight last night, and of course Chris was already snoring (it takes about .05 milliseconds from the time that he speaks his last word to his first snore EVERY NIGHT), and I had to go to the bathroom. I go in, turn on the light, and there’s a big one. And a tall one. Some of them stand tall and make themselves look more menacing. He was from this crowd. AND he was fast.
I turn off the light and run back to bed.
But then I’m lying in bed, thinking about Big Tall Fast Roach (BTFR), and getting more and more afraid that he is going to come into our bedroom, and please no please no please no, crawl up the bed.
And I still have to pee.
So I go back in there, with much fear and trembling. I think that maybe I can put the garbage can over him. After all, it’s pretty big so I don’t have to get close enough to aim well. But he’s fast. Really fast.
So I grab the closest aerosol can around – Chris’ Rave #4 hairspray (it masks his gray hairs) – and I start spraying him.
This makes him faster.
He starts running towards me, and I start silently screaming. Silent because I really didn’t want to wake Chris. Screaming because I really can’t help it. It comes out like a frantic whimpering.
Either the whimpering, the continuous spraying sound, or the noise of me running backwards as fast as I could woke Chris up. He ran in, already knowing exactly what was going on, and smooshed him with toilet paper and flushed him. That easily.
I do think the Rave blinded BTFR, though. Because when Chris got down in front of him, he just stood there and allowed himself to be smooshed.
So, maybe it’s not too bad of a defense.