Last night I stayed up far too late watching an episode of RoveLA on the internet. It featured Seth MacFarlane and Lauren Graham, two people I enjoy hearing speak, and Will.i.am, who doesn't seem to speak very well but who has oddly small teeth and is therefore intriguing to watch.
When I finally shut everything down and was turning off lights, I saw that a bizarrely huge roach (non-Floridians and sticklers call them palmetto bugs) was hanging out just above my front door. I swore and went off to find the tallest swatting object I could find. It was a thin catalog, and I could tell as I moved closer to Mr. Roach that I wasn't going to be able to reach him. He seemed particularly obsessed with trying to walk on my ceiling, which he eventually gave up for the chance to fly directly at my head. I squealed like a little kid, ducked, and then said out loud to no one, "I hate it when they do that!"
Then I hurried across the room to the wall where he landed. This time, with me jumping up in the air, I was able to hit him, but only in a way that knocked him off on to the bookcase, and then floor. I did my best Hulk smash but the bastard climbed up on the bottom shelf and ducked under some Princess magazines and library books.
I swore some more, quite colorfully, and tried to sort out what to do. I hated the idea of leaving him there to crawl out later, when he would most definitely find his way down the hall to crawl on my sleeping face. I wiggled some magazines around while poised to leap back if he should emerge, but he stayed in hiding. Smart little booger. So then I went and got some spider spray, which was the most conveniently available poison in the house. I did a quick spray under the edge of the magazine and then stepped back. I wondered whether mere spider spray would disturb a creature rumored to be capable of surviving a nuclear holocaust. The answer turned out to be a most wonderful "Yes." Roachzilla came racing out of the bookcase and across the floor, where I pummeled him excessively, finishing him off with a satisfying, "Take that, you asshole." He is now resting in pieces in the comfy confines of my trashcan.
And that's how I finished off my Thanksgiving.
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