Jonathan and I have a roach problem. We live on the 1st floor, we live right next to the garbage chute, and last year when they were doing road work they found a MASSIVE roach nest under the road. We have done a great job tackling this by using DE and a Dupont product. Also, these roached are small. More insidious, little German roaches, but still small and, overall, they don’t freak me out.
This is me when I see a waterbug/Palmetto bug/fucking huge roach:
So anyway, I walk into our bedroom to walk on the treadmill and…Greg, I’ll call him, is upside down. Now, we have all this stuff designed to kill them so usually the roaches are dead or nearly dead. I wrap a CATCHER’S MITT of toilet paper around my hand so I won’t feel him if I pick him up and…HOLYSHITHEISSTILLVERYALIVEANDRANAROUNDTHEMITTOFTOILERPAPER. In that instant, I know I have GOT to call Jonathan. I give not one fuck that he is at work and has to come 45 minutes home to kill it. HE HAS TO. Luckily for Jonathan the roach makes a beeline for my foot and I step on it (I am wearing shoes).
This is the conversation later at home:
Me: I almost made you come home.
Me: FUCK YES, did you see the size of it? It READS, dude.
Me: Not kidding. It’s CULTURED, goes to school, shit it probably studies Victorian Literature.
Jonathan: Victorian Literature?
Me: Yeah, it was ALIVE then. And, not kidding, if there is ever another one that size in this house, I am moving out until you eradicate them.
Jonathan: You are moving out? Don’t you think that is excessive?
Me: DUDE, that roach could have kicked my ASS. It was HUGE!
Or something like that. Welcome to his life.