Nasty Flying Bugs

Thanks to Andrea, I am feeling inspired to tell you a little about one of my greatest phobias: Roaches.

Well, maybe I should elaborate. Not just any kind of roach. I actually hate them all, but I don't necessarily freak out when a teensy one comes around.

No, it's the extra-large-only-grown-in-the-deep-swamps-and-fly-and-aren't-scared-of -humans kind.

Not sure exactly when it all started, but I can for sure give you my earliest memory.

My grandmother didn't mind the buggers so much, so she didn't exterminate. Don't get me wrong, she didn't live in a nasty house, by any means, but if a roach happened to wander in, she'd do what any normal person would do and take her shoe and swat it.

Well, I can remember being back in my room, with her on the other end of the house (which puts her out of range for my regular yells) at nighttime, talking on the phone to my friend, when what should I see, but a freaking HUGE probably four inch roach climbing up my wall.

And it's the wall closest to the door, so it's not like I can run out of the room. And screaming "MeMaw, There's A ROACH" didn't work.

And to make matters worse, it FLEW AT ME. Like right straight at my head. So I really screamed then and ducked under my covers and stayed there until someone came and rescued me.

Memaw used to say to me, "What are you gonna do when you grow up and you don't have me to kill your bugs for you?" And I would be all, "I'm gonna marry me a man who will kill em for me."

Luckliy, Steven doesn't have the same phobias I do, because he is more than willing to do this dirty deed for me. Once I saw one in the kitchen, and I left. I grabbed my shoes and the baby and I left. I went to Walmart and bought a bottle and diapers, and I called a friend to meet me at the mall. I hung out there until it was time for Steven to come home, and I waited outside while he scoped things out.

I hate roaches.
Let me finish with one other story.

After we got married, we moved to Oklahoma City. (BTW: LOVED IT!!!) But we brought a nasty stowaway with us. Steven was on a business trip for a whole week, and I was alone from Monday to Friday. On Tuesday, after work I was sitting at my kitchen table in my undies talking on the phone, without my glasses when I realized there was a very dark blur on the wall opposite me in the living room. Luckily I had Melissa on the phone, because it was a freaking roach and I needed all the support I could get.

She encouraged me to go out to the parking lot to get someone to come in and kill it for me. At that point my choice was to go outside in my brassiere and briefs or go dig in the dirty clothes pile to find something to put on. The roach was blocking my way into my bedroom where all my clean clothes were. (Actually it wasn't really blocking the way, but I would have had to pass within 4 feet of it, rendering the bedroom off limits.)

So I finally mosey on outside, in my smelly dirty clothes, and of course there is not a soul to be found anywhere. So the next suggestion is to get the roach spray and just spray it. That is just not my cup of tea. I can't get close enough to spray a roach. That would require me to be within 8 feet of it. Nope, sorry, can't do it.

But, as Melissa so kindly pointed out, what choice do I have? I would have been perfectly willing to just grab my car keys and head to a hotel for the rest of the week, but did she make that suggestion to my frozen-with-fear mind? No. She insisted I had to kill the darn thing myself.

So I take a deep breath, muster up every ounce of courage in my skinny little body, and climb on the couch, opposite the living room. (You didn't really think I could stand on the floor and spray it, did you? What if it fell off the wall and scurried towards me? Uh, NO!!!) I put the phone down, covered my eyes loosely with one hand, and sprayed with the other.

It started to fly towards me immediately, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and jumped off the couch, and ran to the table and hopped up on a chair, and sprayed again. This time I stopped it, and I was about hysterical. All I could say was, "Oh My Gosh, Oh My Gosh, Oh My Gosh."

But I killed that little sucker all by myself. I will never ever be caught without bug spray in my house.

To end the story, I piled magazines up on top of it and left it there until I picked Steven up at the airport on Friday evening. I waited in the car while he went upstairs and got it and brought it back outside to toss in the outside dumpster.

What a man!