I had a disturbing wake up call today. I was driving Chloe to her grandparents house. We were about a block away when I felt something move, crawling around in my right shoe, next to my big toe. First of all – ew. While surpressing screams because I didn’t want to scare my daughter, who was very happy, thoughts of playing dress up in her Snow White dress with her poppy, dancing in her car seat to the Wiggles.
My first thought was,
You see, last week we found a big, fat mama black widow on our cabinets right next to our kitchen sink (the cabinets my daughter likes to play in while I’m washing dishes – was NOT happy about that). I know she was a mama because when my husband went after her all of a sudden half a dozen little babies came running after him (I guess they hadn’t learned yet to not run towards the big man with a deadly weapon – well, it was a shoe, it’s deadly to them – ). The mama black widow (who was, no exageration, bigger than my thumb!) – went running and my husband had to dig out drawers and go in with a flashlight and the deadly shoe. He finally got her, but we have no clue how many babies are running free in the house.
Back to the shoe. I parked the car in my parents driveway not much longer after the offending thing started crawling around in my shoe. I opened up the door and kicked my shoe as far away from myself as I could. And what comes flying out of my shoe? Not a baby black widow. Worse. A roach. Double and triple EW.
I HATE roaches. I can’t stand being around them. I know you didn’t exactly expect me to declare my love for them, who would? BUT seriously. I hate them. I would not shed one tear if they were obliterated or I never saw one ever again. In fact, I wouldn’t mind not seeing them for the next several lifetimes. Now, my fear and distaste isn’t completely unreasonable.
When I was 5 we moved from Germany to Alabama (my dad was in the ARMY). I don’t know the details because, well, I was 5, but they weren’t ready for us to be there. And we couldn’t get a hotel room. And there was only one place we could stay on base, but it wasn’t ready for us for some reason but we had to stay there because there was nowhere else to go. So we go in – the place is infested with roaches. And, this is the South, so they’re not only roaches. They are king kong sized roaches. Not only are they king kong sized roaches, but they fly. UGH. That’s okay. Why? Because we have a big, fat can of RAID. Oh yeah. My dad finds one crawling across the floor (which wasn’t hard because they were literally everywhere). He points the can directly on the roach and sprays. . . .and sprays. . .and sprays. . .and sprays. . .and the thing just keeps right on walking. I think he thanked my dad for the nice misty bath. Determined to really get him this time my dad gets a shoe (the deadly shoe). BAM!! First, it lays still squashed on the floor. . .then, it gets up and keeps walking! It waved goodbye as it opened the front door and walked out; I think it had a hot date.
That wasn’t a good night. I have visions of clinging to my mom and having those giant, ugly things flying at me. That’s the night my fear and loathing started.
I am convinced that I did something in a previous life to some high up bug, because they follow me. They come after me. Ask my husband, he is always amazed because I am constantly finding bugs everywhere, even in my food (in good restaurants too!).
Okay, I need to end this creepy, bug-filled story because I’m sure you’re just as grossed out by this blog entry as me. (By the way, it took me an hour to get up the courage to put on my shoe again – and that was after banging it against everything and stabbing inside with scissors, just in case)