When I was a kid I used to hallucinate bugs in the bed. My mom would come into my room and I’d have torn everything off the bed down to the mattress, insisting there were bugs in the bed. I must have known this would happen some day; Last night I saw a huge roach in our bedroom. We stared each other down for a split second and I thought, “Slipper! Sneaker! Saucepan!” In my moment of incoherent hesitation it ran under the bedside table. I tried trapping it there but somehow it got out. I knew it had to have gone under the bed so I started taking everything out. (It’s totally packed with under-the-bed-storage boxes.) I saw him, he ran, I lost him. I got everything out from under the bed and he was nowhere. I shone the flashlight under everything.
My husband and I live with our baby in a one bedroom apartment. The baby, I should mention, slept soundly through everything, including my 20 minutes of stage-whispering on all fours, “you mother f**ker! I’m gonna kill you mother f**ker! You piece of s**t, where are you?”
I’m a good mom.
So now there was a roach in the room with us and the baby. My plan was to never sleep again.
I eventually talked myself down enough to go to bed but soon realized I’d forgotten to take my vitamins. I got up, shining my cell as a flashlight and there he was, running towards the changing table! I yelled, “YES!” Threw my under-the-bed storage box of christmas ornaments on him, went to get the cast iron pot (to overturn on him so my husband could kill him later of course), and when I got back and lifted the box of ornaments? GONE. He was back under the bed. So I just sat there waiting for him to come out again. Holding the pot. In my glider. It’s actually Johnny A’s glider. He and his lovely wife, Natasha, were kind enough to lend us theirs when we had a baby.
As I waited I wrote a panicked email to my Trophy Wives (wouldn’t you?) and the response I got from Johnny A was one for the books. Well, the blogs:
Let me know where and when I should report to jump that roach in the dark and beat him.
When Michael was a few months old, I woke up one morning and told Natasha about a dream I had had that night. There was a cockroach in Michael’s bassinette. I grabbed it with my bare hand and smashed it against the wall. I dragged my hand down the wall until the roach was obliterated. Then I went back to bed (without washing my hand!).
Natasha response? That wasn’t a dream.
|« Our new promo video is cuuuuuuute!||Win a Trophy Wife T-Shirt at Trophy Wife's 6th Anniversary Show »|