Oct 19, 2019 | Uncategorized
This morning, I did the thing. You know, that cartoonish thing when you see a shadow scurrying across the floor and leap onto a chair? Ugh. I’m not proud of it. Even as it was happening, a wash of shame and absurdity rushed over me.
There I was, still groggy from sleep and not a drop of tea in me, and then I saw it… a minotaur-sized Indiana centipede. It scuttled on a determined path by my feet, doubtless fueled by a lust for blood.
Arrested, I took in every nearby weapon at my disposal: my laptop (too expensive and too cumbersome to wield in a do or die situation); a stack of books (but I cringed at the thought of ever holding them in my hands again after they’d been sullied by arthropod goo); and a decorative pillow (the burly bug would have shrugged off the attack and issued a low taunting chuckle, “Is that all you’ve got, lady?”).
So, left without any options, I leapt to the chair, heart hammering in my neck, lungs shrinking to the size of bubble wrap and ready to burst.
The sudden jolt of activity was enough to rouse my sluggish brain into full wakefulness. And that’s when I remembered that these beasts could climb.
Leaping from the chair with a distance that could rival any ballerina on her worst day, I dashed across the floor and retrieved the Lysol from the bathroom. Sufficiently armed with a yellow can that promises to kill 99.9%, I went back to face the monster. Only to find him gone. Vanished. And likely plotting a path upstairs to my bedroom where he will lay in wait amidst the woodgrain of my furniture.
Clearly, I’ll have to move.