I wondered in that moment if I was going to have to kill someone.
The prolonged shriek from across the house narrowed my focus and intensified my hearing, “What the…” All of my years of worrying about how to defend myself and Weez began to congeal into a what can I use as a weapon thought pattern. I was in my bathroom flossing.
At ease, brain.
Weez runs into my room, gasping, “The biggest roach I’ve ever seen is in my bathroom above my door.”
She had been in the bathroom at the time. Realizing the creepy-crawly is above you is pretty much the worst, especially when you realize you’ve already walked under it and again have to cross its path (at the speed of light this time, of course).
I finished flossing and, for the second time in like three days, retrieved the bug spray from the garage. This time, however, I grabbed the wasp spray for distance. If that bad boy is still on the wall / ceiling or can fly, Imma need back up.
Approaching her bathroom, one spray can in each hand, I leaned in only far enough to check the entryway in the mirror’s reflection.
I’ve seen enough CSI to know how to approach a room with an intruder *nods*
It was in the upper left corner, “That is a huge roach.” Switching hands, I armed my right with the wasp spray, aimed and pulled the trigger, or pressed the button… whatever.
A string a cuss words flowed from my mouth.
The stream of poison sent the roach down the wall; good, none of this “palmetto bug” bullshit.
Dousing the entire corner—ceiling to sink, the mirror, everything on the sink and the sink itself, I managed to get the bugger into the sink. The thick trail of chemicals still streaming, it couldn’t make it out. Drawing up my left hand with the roach spray, I ended it. The roach went belly up against the drain stopper, its giant legs twitching for the last time.
After a few moments, I sprayed it again for good measure. Never trust a roach on its back.
The scent of bug spray heavy in the small space, Weez stood behind me asking if it was dead.