Unholy War Against Nature

Fueled by a bottle of lambic peach, I decide to post yet again.

Nature has it out for me. And it knows exactly which irrational fear buttons to push to send me over the edge. Last Sunday, on the day of our Lord, a sacred and holy day, a day for relaxation and reflection on the blessings we've all been given, the spawn of Satan himself made a visit to my home. For four terrifying hours I struggled with this unholy spawn, until I was so mentally and emotionally exhausted I thought I would surely give up. But I didn't. And with one last push of all the strength I had, I finally overcame.

There was a roach in my bathtub.

A ROACH in my BATHTUB. The place I go naked. The place that cleanses me. The place I go to relax after a hard day or a workout or a stress knot in my back. And I found a live roach. In there. It was 3 pennies long. Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to pull back your shower curtain and find a live 3-penny long roach flipped up on its back with its hairy spikey legs floundering in the air and 4 inch antenna flopping against the floor?

Luckily, or so I thought, it appeared the offending creature has already partially succumbed to my protective spray of preventative Raid that I faithfully hose through my apartment every 3 months. However, to be on the safe side I immediately, after a brief minute of wigging out and pacing frantically through my living room, sprayed it down with at least a half can of additional Raid. Then I "calmly" shut the bathroom door so that the roach could finish its death sentence in peace, as I would wish it do the same for me if it or any of its 8 billion relatives were ever to show up in my apartment in the future, and then vowed never to enter my bathroom again. No more than seconds later I called boyfriend to come remove the beast from my presence.

Except he didn't answer. I left a "calm" yet non-descript message requesting his immediate assistance, as he doesn't quite understand my irrational yet pervasive fear of bugs whose only true potential for harm to humans is producing the heebie jeebies. And waited. And waited. And then I sent a text. And waited. It soon became obvious that this distressed damsel needed to grow a pair and double as her own charming prince. And I can be very charming. I went into the bathroom again, peered into the bathtub and wouldn't you know that f-ing bug was still f-ing alive! FOUR HOURS LATER after literally wading in a pool of poison, this mutant of a roach is still kicking around its hairy spikey legs and the damn antenna again flop against the floor. Literally, the bug was drenched in roach spray for four hours. No effect. Still alive.

I called in the only infallible action I know- I took my moms advice. Mom is wise. She told me to smash it with something heavy. So I did. And it died. Finally. And then I had roach guts all over my bathtub. And then I took a nap. Exhausting work, extermination and hyperventilation.

After a long and well deserved nap, I knew I had to dispose of the creature somehow. Flushing seemed the most fitting and least creepy method. So I taped together three pieces of junk mail end to end to create the longest "shovel" with the most stability to scoop up the roach-that-would-not-quit, and as quickly and with the least amount of shaking possible, I flung it into the toilet. And flushed. Oh no! In my fog of panic I completely forgot about the weak swirl! Very limited flushing power! The flush was unsuccessful! THIS ROACH WILL HAUNT MY DREAMS! I will never be rid of it! But I had come so far, I would not give up now. Three more flushes and I was finally free of the roaches snare. And now, the next Thursday, I was able to take a shower for more than 30 seconds in my bathroom without fear. Baby steps.