Okay, I have to get a better title than that, but last night I had a traumatic experience. I was kind of ready for bed, wearing the PJ bottoms that I call sweats so that I can wear them in public, a tank top and a pedicure. I’m not sure how I got into the bathroom to pee or how long I was in there, maybe flossing my teeth, I have no idea. What I DO know is this fucking Amazonian water bug (because I can’t bear to call it a cockroach) was blocking my way out of the bathroom. No one believes how big this thing was. It was the size of a newborn’s head. Slightly smaller than my fist and if it got into a fight with a kitten, the victor would not surprise you.
I was in a panic, understandably. My phone was in the living room. I forgot to pause True Blood. And I had a bowl of ice cream that was quickly melting. And who the FUCK did this bug think he was? He mocked me with his tentacles. I’m not kidding, they were waving at me, edging me on.
Now, I’ve killed bugs. I am a vicious ant murderer. I’ve got pretty good reflexes so those little fruit flies are killed an average of 35% of the time. But this no. I called the dog over, but he’s been in a shitty mood, looked at the bug and walked on. The cat looked me and was like, nope, he’s all yours. The thing was waving at me, taunting me as to my next move.
I was reminded by a incident when I lived in SoHo in New York. There were a couple of cockroaches (water bugs) in my sink. It was a kitchen/bathroom sink so it wasn’t like I could just go in the other room when I wanted to brush my teeth. But I had tools. There were pots and pans, knives. A stand up career that knew this would be great material. So I covered those fuckers with a pot and called my best friend to figure out what to do next.
Together we windexed them to death and then used an oven mitt (promptly thrown away) to throw the dead fucks out the window.
But here, I was as good as alone. It was 10pm and not a good hour to be screaming at the top of your lungs. Standing on my bathtub with no armor no windex, no shoes, nothing. (not that I would have ruined a good pair of shoes anyway. I think that fucker would have come through the bottom) I looked to the left and saw the shower door was open. Only one possibility, the fucker came in through there. Slammed through the shower door and was now keeping me prisoner in my own bathroom.
I looked around for something, anything. Perfume. It was all I had. I don’t’ use hairspray so it was going to have to be the perfume. I looked at my options, Viva La Juicy, I liked that one. Samples. No. And this big red bottle that I didn’t really like wearing anymore and have conveniently forgotten the name. So I picked that one up.
Still the fucker stared at me. That was it. This was war. I started squirting the FUCK out of this perfume right on him. The bug looked at me and then retreated. He was in shock. I kept going, squirting him into the hallway feeling more powerful by the second. Until he ran. Into my linen closet. I ran out of the bathroom and to my phone.
It was too late to call the bf and his car was in the shop anyway. I decided to take an Ativan and go to sleep. This whole experience was too traumatic. I got the dog into the bed and held him a little tighter than he wanted. The cat sat behind me and I cursed them both for being bigger pussies than me. But I needed their comfort now.
When I woke up, I thought it had been a dream. I have very lucid dreams. But I smelled the perfume, I saw the bottle overturned on the ledge and the shower door was still open. That’s when I called the bf. He had a business appointment but when he was done, he called me back.
“Did you find it?”
“When are you getting here?”
“You were serious about wanting me to come over?”
Fuck yeah. So now, I’m at my desk, writing in fear and waiting. Waiting for the terrorist to make another appearance before my boyfriend gets here armed with valor and a strong stomach.
Moral of the story, in spite of its performance in battle, it’s nice to know my perfume isn’t toxic.