03 July 2011

Let that be a lesson to the rest of you.

Is there a point in updating a blog that hasn't seen action in a year? (Exactly a year, too - lazy coincidence FTW!) Blogger says I have thirteen followers, so maybe, but maybe not. In any case, I don't care, because this blog has always been about how funny I think I am, more for my own amusement than anyone else's. Which is why I am willing to share the following story that, if I had to give it a name, I would call "Once upon a time Jill found a cockroach."

Once upon a time, I found a cockroach. Or rather, it found me. It might not be the first cockroach I've found in my apartment. There was this ... thing ... a few months ago that was vaguely roach-like. It looked mostly like this (although I'm not sure about how many legs it had but to be fair, it's not like I took a good look and counted them or anything):

This particular beastie was dispatched with the aide of EcoSense Indoor Insect Killer. I think EcoSense needs to revisit their definition of "on contact" because the bug didn't even flinch when I sprayed him. I think he enjoyed it, actually. I had to chase him around the living room, alternately spraying and jumping back a few feet, all the while praying that the EcoSense spray wouldn't damage the finish of the laminate on my living room floor, because how would I explain that to my landlords?

Anyway, after cornering the beastie I was able to drown him in EcoSense before scooping up his soggy carcass with a wad of paper towels, throwing the mess away and taking the trash out, holding the bag as far away from me as humanly possible. Then I went inside and had a fit of the heebie-jeebies.

But that's not the story I wanted to tell. Because the other day, I met a legitimate cockroach in my bathroom.

I knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I'd made plans. I didn't think I could stand to actually come near enough to a cockroach to employ the chemical-death-and-paper-towels routine, plus I figured a roach would be too big to scoop up without being able to feel it through the paper towels. So, I planned, if I ever found one I'd use the broom and dustpan, because I have one of these bad boys:

I figured I'd stun the offender with the broom, sweep him up, and run for the front door which is conveniently located from anywhere in the apartment. I felt this would work equally well with any other sort of pest I encountered (cricket, spider, boy attaching a takeout menu to my screen door).

I should have factored nudity in. Because when Once Upon A Time Jill Found A Cockroach, Jill was stepping into the shower.

If I'm counting my blessings, I have to say it wasn't a very big critter, as far as roaches go, probably only two inches long and a little on the thin side. But I was, as I mentioned, sans wardrobe, and the exterior of my building is well lit. Unfortunately, the bug was between me and my bathrobe, and he was headed for me.

Well, I thought, this was no time to be squeamish. So I took a step toward my bedroom. I made it. I turned to assess the location of the intruder and saw him change course - apparently, he liked me. Stupidly, I kicked at the air in its general direction and then, to my horror, it unfolded its wings. I think it was kind of new at the whole cockroach thing, because it only made it two feet in the air before falling. It hit my arm on the way down, and I heard a screech. Oh, hell, I thought. It can fly, and it shrieks.

A moment later I realized the shriek had come from me, not the bug. I was frantic now, and the wings had put a damper on my plans for broom and dustpan. I thought of the EcoSense, but recalling its efficacy on the beastie, I decided to go for the hard stuff - Scrubbing Bubbles. I grabbed the can from under my sink, gave it a little shake, and took aim like Jack Bauer going at a suspected terrorist.

The Scrubbing Bubbles didn't kill it, but they stunned it, buying me enough time to grab the paper towels. Muttering a quick apology to the tree from whence they came, I sopped up the foamy mess and tossed it into the toilet. I flushed twice. When the bowl had re-filled the water, I glanced around the bathroom, all twelve square feet of it, and said, "Let that be a lesson to the rest of you!"

I have no idea who I was talking to. Theoretical other insects, I suppose. I just hope they were listening. Because I'm running out of cleaning products, and I think if I shriek like that again my neighbors are going to call the cops.