Remember Superman Frank I talked about in this post? Well, he was back today.
It was war.
I found the nasty cockroach casually crawling around on the wall above my kitchen sink. Of all the nerve. Most roaches seem to stay in the dark, but not this guy. Maybe because he's so big he thinks he can take me.
Moments like this always make me think of how Tom used to give me a hard time about killing bugs when we were first married. He would joke that I was going to have to answer to every one of the crawly creatures when I get to heaven.
But when it comes to roaches, I think it's a different story. There is NO WAY there will be cockroaches in heaven. And what if I don't go to heaven for killing so many bugs? Well, so be it.
On with the story....
Jackson and I stood on the other side of the kitchen watching the nasty
little big bug crawl all over the place. As I stood and watched him, I was trying to get up the nerve to kill him. But I know what a "splat" they can make, and I just didn't know if I could muster up the courage.
I decided I would count to five and just do it. So I counted to five.... over and over and over, chickening out every time.
Finally, when I knew I couldn't miss, I did it! But I only got the back half.
He ran away, leaving a TRAIL OF GUTS behind him on my counter. No joke.
So I tried again, but this time it made more guts SPLAT against the wall behind the counter.
Are you grossed out enough yet?
Even after two guts splats, he ran and hid underneath our wooden knife holder thingy.
So after IM-ing Tom about the whole thing, I decided I'd go check to make sure "Superman Frank" was still there. To my horror, an army of ants had suddenly attacked my counter, and they were
EATING. THE. ROACH. GUTS.
My own story is making me sick as I write it. I won't be offended if you stop reading.
By now it was time to go get Joni from school and I knew I had to make one last attempt to either kill or capture. So after counting to five again... oh.... 10 different times, I heroically knocked over the wooden knife holder thingy and as the maimed roach tried to get away with the two legs he had left, I threw a bowl down on top of him, and then put several of Tom's expensive language dictionaries to good use.
I put them on top of the bowl so there was NO FREAKING WAY he was getting out this time.
He's still there as I write this, several hours later. I injured him enough that he's probably dead by now. And if he's not, I'm hiring a hit man tonight (a.k.a. Tom) to take care of him.
See you in hell, Mr. Roach.