The Cockroach.

This is a true story about a girl and cockroach.

I just recently moved to the south. It is beautiful and so far I like it here, but that being said, I hate bugs. I have never been surrounded by such an abundance of insects before. I have never had an issue with normal bugs like flies or gnats (which my apartment is covered it…?!) or spiders even. When it comes to things like MOSQUITOES or COCKROACHES, I become irrational and freaked out.


In the past two months that I have lived here I have gotten more mosquito bites than I have had in my entire life anywhere else. Bites usually don’t bother me, they come, they itch, they leave. The mosquito bites from the south inflame my body and never leave. I spent two days drugged on Benadryl just to keep myself from scratching my legs off (gross, I know). My boyfriend, Chase, has been free of any and all bug bites since we have moved, which he loves to remind me of every time I get one. Whatever.

This brings me to my next least favorite bug, the cockroach. The quick-moving and hard-shelled enemy. Yesterday morning Chase found one in the top corner of the closet, he moved a chair into the closet and killed it. My hero, right? He left for work and I went about my day. We live in a very small studio apartment so I try my best to take care of it so it doesn’t start to stink or feel unlivable, so it shocked me to see another damn cockroach scurry across my carpet to seek refuge under a pair of pants folded on the floor next to a book shelf.

Panic consumes me.

I can kill a spider, fly, gnat, pincher bug, etc., but I simply cannot stomach hearing/feeling the crunch of the cockroaches hard exterior. I went into full blown killer mode and one of the longest battles of my life began. I grabbed all toxic cleaners  I had stored in my cabinet, a broom, and a threw on a pair of Chase’s shoes (I can never kill a bug with my own shoes, no thanks). I began by slowly removing everything around the pants to give me a wide open space to work with, and then proceeded to smack the pants with the broom handle PRAYING that the roach would run out and surrender. But of course It wasn’t going to let me off that easily. I take a deep breath and push the pants aside, ready to attack, but to my dismay there was not sign of It. I begin to sweat. I am starting to hyperventilate at the thought of this thing having full reign of my apartment. It would not become the king of this castle, not today.

I had never taken my eyes off of the area It ran to, so I knew it was somewhere behind the bookshelf. I took all of the books off slowly, after hitting it forcefully with the broom a few times to see if that would scare It, and once I got to the last one there It was. We were at a stand still, It was staring straight at me as if It was laughing at me. I froze and couldn’t move my body close enough to It. It ducked behind the last book and I knew I was doomed. There was no way I could grab that book. I hit the book with the broom against the wall as hard as I could and then against the side of the bookshelf, it was my hope that I would smash It. Thankfully for my own ass that didn’t work out, because it would have been hard to explain to Chase why his expensive cookbook was ruined…

I successfully tipped the book over and slid it out only to find nothing was there. I felt defeat. I felt pathetic. I felt nauseated. And just as I had given up all hope, the little fucker ran out of nowhere. I charged. I sprayed it with Scrubbin’ Bubbles and realized that it wasn’t toxic enough to slow It down when It just ran faster towards my closet as a giant, foaming ball. I jumped on top of It with all of my force and waiting a couple seconds before I moved. It was dead. I had won.

After 45 minutes, I had finally conquered the pest and I was so proud of myself for my epic triumph. However, now that it is all said and done, I am not sure if I am the victorious one for killing It or if It is the victorious one for shaping an idiot out of me. Let’s be real, who the hell chases a bug around an apartment for 45 minutes. That’s just not normal.

Moral of the story: “If you can dream it, you an do it!”– Blade of Glory.





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