The Bug first made it’s presence known to me one evening when P had left his keys at work. I was happily sound asleep when I was jolted awake by my phone vibrating. P is on the phone telling me that he is standing in the hallway and can I please get up and open the door because he forgot his keys. Whatever. I stumble out of bed, half asleep. As I am walking through the living room, I see that a piece of a shoe is moving. The hell? I open my eyes a tiny bit more and notice giant antennae. Long, twitchy antennae. Ew. I run to open the door and flip on a light. There it is. A humongous, oversized American Roach, also known in the LBC as a Waterbug (because really, who wants to say the word roach, much less admit to having one in your house and risking the condescending stares of friends and strangers who think you must be dirty if there is a roach in your house). The Bug slowly turns its head towards P and I, giving us a look that clearly says he is quite annoyed with us for cutting into his living room time. I point it out to P who, thanks to too many cocktails, makes a feeble attempt at swatting The Bug with a shoe. The Bug runs for the safety beneath the couch, laughing over his shoulder at us as he goes. I look at P with a “well, are you gonna move the couch and get that Mother F-er or what?” look. He turns off the light and crashes into bed. I sleep with one eye open.
Several weeks later. It is a Tuesday night. I had spent an enjoyable evening with several friends from work. I am tired, but in a good mood because I am proud of myself for coming home early to get to bed at a decent time. I walk into the bathroom, over the bath mat and sit on the toilet. The moment I sit, I see a familiar twitchiness out of the corner of my eye. The Bug is back. Chilling in my bathroom, lounging on the bath mat. We slowly turn our heads towards each other and make eye contact. I scream and jump up. He screams back. I make a Superman leap over him and crash into the hallway. He stays exactly where he is. Oh, he is pissing me off royally at this point! Who the hell does he think he is? I run to P’s closet and grab a sturdy looking shoe. I am shaking, but I carefully position myself and slam the shoe down as hard as I can on top of him. Now, before I go any further I would like to point out that this guy is not your average roach that you may see in the kitchen or the bathroom. Nope, this guy is at least 2 ½ inches long, not including the twitching antennae. All together, we’re talking almost four inches long. Anyway, The Bug does not dart out from beneath the shoe, so I think I am safe. I start to feel warm and fuzzy. I just killed a gigantor bug. By myself. No man needed. I rule! I am woman, hear me roar! I…wait…what was that? Did I just see a twitch? Oh no you don’t Buddy. I quickly run back to P’s closet and grab the mate of the sturdy shoe. I slam that one on top of the other. The Bug knocks both shoes over, looks at me like “So? Is that all you’ve got?” and trots away, shaking his head and laughing at me. With the knowledge that I would not be able to conquer this monstrosity on my own, I quickly shut the bathroom door and shoved a towel under the door in hopes of trapping The Bug in there until P could get home. Apparently I did such a good job, that when P finally strolled in, TB was NOWHERE to be found! The hell? I swear, it was just here!
About a week later, I come home exhausted. All I can think about is getting in my bed...I start my ritual, pull the comforter back, fluff the pillows, stand at the end of my bed to fluff the comforter...what the hell is poking into my leg? I look down....the bug is sitting ON MY LEG!! He looks up at me all "What the fuck are you doing messing with my bed?" The girliness in me takes over and I scream so high-pitched and so loud I am sure that Mariah Carey's evil soul has taken possession of my body! I am jumping on the bed, swatting at The Bug, but trying not to touch it (mental images of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom are running through my head). Finally I leap from the bed, run down the hall, through the living room and out the door. Just in case. Of what, I'm not sure, I only know it was necessary to get that far away. When my breathing has returned to normal and I realize that I am in the stairway in my underwear, I creep back inside. I slowly peek my head around the corner of the room, just in time to see TB jump down from the bed and disappear under the dresser. I look longingly at my bed and know in my heart that I will never be able to sleep in it again.
A couple of weeks later, I was once again beside myself with pride at the fact that I was going to have an early night. About 9:00 I open my closet door to get my pants for the next day and guess what I see...THE MOTHER F-ING BUG!! He was trying on a pair of my pants, asked me to pick a top for him...Seriously, just sitting there, chillin' on some pants, not a care in the world. I slam the door shut and run out of the room. When P finally saunters in, I inform him of the latest sighting and ask him to please remove my clothes from the closet. Of course, when he opens the door, not an antennae to be seen! Anywhere! Why won't it just show itself to P and let him kill it?!?! WHY, GOD, WHY???? UGH! HATE THE BUG!
