[an unpleasant wake up call]

This is my morning routine most days:
1. Wake up (groaning optional)

2. Take dog out

3. Feed dog and make breakfast

4. Lie back down for 20 minutes (30 if I have something simple for breakfast, like cereal)

5. Get up, wash face, brush teeth

6. Make bed (sometimes)

7. Dress, do hair and makeup

8. Get lunch together, brew coffee

9. Take dog out one last time

10. Get dog situated, fix coffee, leave

 

THIS was my routine this morning:

1. Wake up (groaning optional)

2. Take dog out

3. Feed dog and make breakfast

4. Lie back down for 20 minutes (30 if I have something simple for breakfast, like cereal)

5. Go to brush teeth then SNAP WIDE AWAKE WHEN I SEE A BIG-ASS COCKROACH ON MY ANKLE.

Oh yes, that happened. You know how sometimes a part of your body gets a tickling sensation that feels like there’s something on you but there isn’t? When that happens, I usually think to myself, “Geez, I hope it’s not a cockroach.” Well, this time, it was a fucking cockroach.

Roaches are one of my biggest fears (right after waking up during surgery, drowning, falling to my death, and being beheaded). I. HATE. THEM.  They’re gross, they’re creepy, they’re crawly, and whenever I see one, my mind distorts it so that it’s six feet tall with huge fangs that are just ITCHING TO SINK INTO MY SKIN. Kind of like this, but bloodier and fangy-er:

AND IT WAS ON MY ANKLE. Notice I said “ankle” and not “foot,” which means the little bastard was trying to climb up my leg. UP MY LEG. The sound that came out of my mouth can best be described as a terrified squeal. I shook it off my ankle, and chaotically ran all around my apartment, looking in random cabinets for my can of Raid, which is the source of all my power and comfort when it comes to dealing with cockroaches. Seriously, in my mind, Raid has taken on a mythical, magical quality, and I’ve convinced myself that without it, roaches will take over my apartment and kill me. It is my talisman, my weapon against evil. Which is why I was getting simultaneously alarmed and pissed when I couldn’t find it right away. I kept going back and forth between the kitchen cabinets and the linen closet, hoping that if I did that little dance enough times, the Raid can would magically appear and I could proceed to defeat my enemy. Which, as far as I knew, was still in the bathroom, but since it was taking so goddamn long to find the can, WHO KNEW WHERE IT COULD BE? I was trying not to succumb to full-on hysteria as I pictured the thing crawling on me in my sleep.

Finally my brain, which had taken a backseat while my body flew into a discombobulated fight-or-flight mode, snapped to attention and reminded me the Raid was actually in the cabinets under the bathroom sink. I flew to the bathroom, and hovered just outside the door for a few seconds because I didn’t see the roach, and was afraid to go in lest it touched me again. Turned out it was a good move, because it FELL FROM THE CEILING into my sink. I quickly retrieved the Raid, and sprayed the shit out of that roach. I made sure I soaked it, but then it crawled down my sink drain, where I (hope) it died. I’m pretty sure it did, because it was starting to slow down. But now my water is draining slightly slower than it was, and I’m trying not to think about the fact that it’s probably because the roach’s body is interrupting the flow of the water because that GIVES ME THE HEEBIE-JEEBIES. I don’t see it in my drain off-hand, and I sure as hell am not getting an effing flashlight to aid me in that search, so to me, it’s out of sight, out of mind, and it’s draining slowly because that’s just what it does. Some people call that denial. I call it a coping mechanism.

In the words of Dane Cook, it was a goddamn epic battle, from which I emerged victorious. So far, anyway. There may be just the teensiest chance I could die from Raid poisoning since I did brush my teeth and wash my face over the sink into which I sprayed it. I rinsed it out, but still. I only mention this in case I “mysteriously disappear.” If that happens, I’m more than likely dead from the poison, in which case, CHECK MY APARTMENT FIRST. I do have a dog, after all, and she shouldn’t be forced to eat my corpse to stay alive.

 

6 Comments Add yours

  1. Arleen says:

    LOL as usual. Idk why bugs gotta get all up in our bidness.

    Like

  2. sarahvb2 says:

    I still get shivers thinking about it. It was a big bug, too. At least 3-4 inches.

    Like

  3. Nichole C says:

    Ugggh. I hate those guys. Before I was married, raid and I were bff’s in those same situations. My husband hates the smell of raid tho, so if we get one I scream (like bloody freakin murder) and he gets them. It’s quite comical.

    Like

    1. sarahvb2 says:

      LOL! Yeah, Raid does stink, and I try not to think about the fact I’m inhaling poisonous fumes. 🙂 That’s good your husband takes care of the roaches, so you won’t have to, though. If I ever get married, I’m appointing my guy to do the same. 🙂

      Like

  4. Lydia says:

    Ewwwww, I HATE bugs. I would have died!

    Like

    1. sarahvb2 says:

      I’m very surprised I didn’t freak out more than I did!

      Like

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