I was making some tea in the kitchen when I noticed a HUGE cockroach on the wall. What the hell? I traded the muggy Louisina bayou for a concrete jungle, and Manhattan is as concretey as it gets. Also, the roach was probably the size of my fingernail (instead of my fist) and it couldn’t fly, so my initial fear of it may have been a little melodramatic.
Anyway, it was kind of in the corner by some cabinets—a little hard to get to. A little swat won’t do it either. You gotta crush those things or they’ll just take off running. So I wadded up a paper towel and pressed into the corner as hard as I could.
Of course, I didn’t kill it. I ran away and now I have a giant bruise under my thumb nail from pressing. It hurts physically, and psychologically because it’s a constant reminder that there’s some nasty little roach running around my tiny kitchen and it could possibly jump in my food, or breed, or vomit on my utensils, or crawl into my ear while I’m sleeping…
AAARRRGGGHHH! Dammit.
Anonymous says:
Roach Swatter
June 3, 2007, 8:52 pmTexas Hippie says:
As a child I usually slept with just a sheet, if that, in the summertime since my parents kept the house around 80 degrees (and I had the top bunk). I awoke in a fit when a vague tickling sensation on my toes became a skitter of legs across my scrotum as a daring cockroach explored my body.
Sleep tight!
June 3, 2007, 9:32 pmBobby says:
its nice to see i am not the only one who types “argh”, but do you actually ever say it?
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May 23, 2010, 9:34 am