Did I ever mention that I hate cockroaches?
I feel bad saying that when I see pictures of cute cartoon cockroaches, like this.
But I don't feel bad when a real cockroach, a big one with scary legs that make a bad noise, jumps out at me from behind the coffeemaker, like tonight.
At first, like many young soldiers when faced with war, I wanted to desert. And I did. I ran back to the living room. But then, I decided to hold my ground. I put my shoes on, (I don't want any buggies running across my toes, thankyouverymuch) and peeked back into the kitchen.
I crept into the closet and chose my weapons - a Swiffer Sweeper, and a can of fly spray. I didn't know if it worked on roaches, and I still don't really, but I thought it was worth a shot.
(Long range weaponry is always a safer bet.)
I came out victorious, but he didn't go without a fight.
I hope I never see another roach again.
Except maybe a cartoon one.