So when I first moved to Louisiana, my house lacked all forms of furniture. At our house for the first few weeks, we had a full size mattress on the floor, a broom, a floor shark mop thing, and a dining room table we got at an AWESOME consignment store in Shreveport. So, to say the least, we didn’t have anything. Along with this, my husband was given two weeks after we got here to figure his stuff out, I didn’t start work until three weeks after getting here, so we spent a lot of time just sitting around our house, not having anything really to do.
This is bad when you’re getting familiar with a new area.
Not only do you learn a lot of new things about your spouse because you’ve never had this much time with him, but also, you get to see all the creepy little things in your house.
Please keep in mind, I am from Minnesota originally and spent my entire adult life in Alaska where there are no types of bugs except mosquitos and silverfish, all of which are harmless. I had heard that the south had cockroaches, but I thought cockroaches were only about a quarter of an inch long. Oh, how wrong I was.
One day, when I was bored out of my mind, I decided to sweep up all the dog fur that my dogs felt they needed to shed once getting to 100+ degree weather, when I sweep under my kitchen sink and I am greeted by a giant (two inch long) cockroach.
When I swept it out from under the sink, it hissed at me. Then it skittered around a little bit and stopped moving…. But I could hear that fucker breathing.
Being a naïve northern girl, I did not see it like this.
I had my ass on the kitchen door, counters on either side of me, so when I swept this cockroach from under the kitchen sink, I was cornered with nowhere to go since I didn’t have enough room to open the kitchen door to go around the house and go inside via the front door. I was barefoot so I couldn’t squash the damn thing, and since I’m a fat girl, I can’t jump over it.
So I did the most logical thing that came to mind.
I kept screaming.
I seriously did not stop screaming. Oh, and I started crying too because I HATE roaches. My husband, the poor man, was in the middle of a very peaceful nap. When he heard my screaming and crying, he thought I was being attacked, so he quickly rushed out onto the tile, sliding the entire way, seeing me crying and screaming in the kitchen, while he was still in his underwear.
“What’s wrong?!” he yelled, looking around for a rapist*
Being too struck with fear to even speak, I shakily pointed at the roach on the floor.
He gives me a very disconcerting look. One eyebrow raised, the other lowered, dropping the rigidness of his posture. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
I shook my head vigorously, unable to say another word, afraid that the hissing monster was going to eat me or worse.
He went over into the living room, grabbed my shoe, came back into the kitchen and killed it. He then grabbed a paper towel and picked it up, to which I ran out of the kitchen crying, finding comfort in my down comforter. Because nothing is more comforting than a comforter.
My husband takes care of the cockroach, then approaches me in the bedroom.
“Your knight in shining armor has slain the dragon… and all you do is run away crying. Fucking seriously? No thanks? No ‘I love you’ and ‘You’re my hero?’”
I’m pretty sure it was a trap, so I didn’t answer.
So that, my friends, is how a cockroach has caused me to become an excellent house keeper.
Has anyone ever been cornered by a cockroach before?
*Note: My husband always teases me that I’m afraid some rapist is going to come into the house. While I’m pretty sure this won’t happen, I am a little paranoid. So when I screamed, he thought someone had broken into the house so he was all STAND BACK! I SHALL PROTECT YOU! When it was really only a roach…