The Most Disgusting Post Ever

I don’t mind bugs. Spiders, beetles, grasshoppers – none send me running from the room, or puts me in that classic female position of calling for the nearest man to rescue me.

Except for roaches. Specifically those of the Palmetto Bug (no link, if you want to see you’ll have to look it up yourself!) variety. I grew up in New Jersey, where roaches are of normal size, about 3/4 of an inch to an inch long. Disgusting and gross, sure, but they don’t elicit the same visceral response that Palmetto Bugs do.

Then I moved to Florida, where G-d apparently decided to cater to all of the senior citizens and make the roaches Large Print. Seriously, they’re huge. Between 2 and 4 inches. Not only that, they can fly.

Yes. Like the creepy flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. And nearly as big.

Imagine sitting at a table and a three inch cockroach alights onto the table next to you.

They seriously send me into a state that nothing else I’ve ever seen can. My heart races, I get nauseous, and feel the need to immediately flee from the room. The house. The state.

You think you’re disgusted reading about this? Imagine having to see one, live and in person. And if you try to kill them you need a hammer, or at least hammer strength. G-d decided he should give them body armor, apparently.

Did I mention they’re not afraid of the light? You don’t even get the opportunity to pretend you didn’t see it because if you walk into a room and turn on the light you find yourself in the middle of a staredown.

When I’m alone and encounter one, I manage to get ahold of myself and do what needs to be done. I have been known to chip paint I’ve hit them so hard, because the only thing that freaks me out more than encountering one is letting one escape. I’ll let your own imaginations take you where I dare not let mine… I shudder in disgusted aftershocks for at least an hour afterwards.

Thankfully in the six years I’ve been in my home I’ve only encountered four. Husband sprays occasionally, and that seems to keep them at bay.

Tonight my son and I encountered one in our kitchen. It was huge. At least three inches. It’s the second one this week, and it’s likely due to all of the rain we’ve been getting. When I saw the first one I freaked, then handled it. I certainly couldn’t ask my son to (though I really, really look forward to the day when I can).

So, when I saw tonight’s roach I immediately let out a yelp and then yelled to Husband, “There’s a roach in the kitchen! That’s the second one this week!!!” He replied, “So? Kill it.”

Before the words were even completely out of his mouth I yelled, “You’re home! YOU do it!”

Doesn’t he understand that killing bugs is his job when he’s home? To me there are many benefits to being married, and this is one of them. I’ll handle certain things when you’re not home, but when you are, dear Husband, you do it.

Do it he did.

It was thirty minutes ago, and I’m still having aftershocks.


I love being married.

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