Last night when I was merely making an attempt to locate an emery board, or even better, nail clippers with which to take care of a broken bit of right hand forefinger nail, a roach the size of a small rodent tried to ambush me in my bathroom.
I knew immediately by the foreboding sense of pure evil that I felt upon walking across the threshold of my bathroom door, that the "thing", if even indeed it is worthy to be labeled with even so much an innocent sounding word as that, was staring me down with its nefarious eyes, causing my skin to crawl.
(Which then made me think that I might have one ON me, if one knows what I mean. That feeling that comes about upon sighting an icky crawly creature of some kind? The minute one's skin has an itch or a tickle one commences to twitch and flap one's arms about in an attempt to GET THE DAMN THING OFF.)
I whipped about in a lightning speed 180 degree turn and there it was, lurking above my doorway. I am sorry to say I did not respond coolly. I didn't stand akimbo with my eyebrow raised defiantly. No, I hollered. Not screamed mind you. I full on hollered and tore out of there so fast Speedy Gonzales would have been impressed. (That is if he were actually real and not an animated character on Looney Tunes, which, in my opinion, is one of the few really great cartoons out there. Not these sad excuses for cartoons that I see on Nickelodean these days.)
I knew that I had to kill it or I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing that it could potentially crawl on me in the middle of the night. Oh the HORROR!
Grabbing the roach spray from under the kitchen sink, I tiptoed my way back into my bedroom and stood in front of my bathroom doorway trying to steady my pounding heart.
"One. Two. Three!", and with that I ran and jumped into my bathtub, did an about face, and watched as the filthy thing, who was still lying in wait for me above the doorway, caught sight of my weapon of choice, turned tail and scurried into my bedroom.
I will not bore you with any attempts at false humility. No, I was brave. I was. I charged after it, spraying lemony scented death above my head and yelling,
Then it fell off of the wall and behind my dresser and, I have to admit, I did a strange hopping dance, my feet alternating in mere nanoseconds in their respective times on the floor. I think I was making small "eep eep eep!" sounds.
I sprayed liberally behind the dresser and hopped up onto my bed and, much to my delight, watched as it emerged from the shadow under the dresser, writhing and wriggling where it died, right under the very edge of the dresser, on the right hand side, close to the front and near the bathroom door.
For a good two minutes I waited to be sure it was truly vanquished. I then sprayed a small passing dust bunny for good measure. Just to be sure. Just in case it was something else in disguise.
To be honest I haven't yet disposed of the remains of my enemy. No, I knowingly, after much thought, left it there to serve as a sort of warning to any of its kind that I am not to be trifled with. It has nothing to do at all with the fact that I can't bear the idea of having to get close to it. Nothing of the sort. Or the fact that I secretly fear it is waiting for me to get close enough to scoop it up with a very long bit of newspaper or something only to attack me. No, I'm just going to leave it there for a few more hours. Just as a warning.
I am a winner.