Take a little journey with me, if you will.
I’ve just gotten the children all tucked into their respective beds. The house is silent. It’s golden hour. The time when I get my best thinking accomplished.
I finish up my nightly chores by tiptoeing out to the garage. Home of the freezer. Keeper of all things delicious and icy cold.
It’s also the location of any and all treats. Well hidden from the other people that I live with.
Whenever I step out into the garage (which is just off the kid’s bedroom hall) I check the garage carpeting, to make certain I don’t step on, say, a hapless frog.
Because those frogs are a cunning species. They have been known to break into the garage. Just to scare me.
The coast is clear, so I tiptoe over to the freezer and open the door wide, to weigh my dining options.
As I was pushing the Lean Cuisine out of the way, I felt something crawl up the inside of my yoga pants. (Which, btw, have never seen a Yoga position, but “yoga pants” are so much more exotic than “stretchypants”.)
Instinctively, I screamed, dropping a frozen bag of bagels and tupperware bowl of hard Spaghetti Sauce. I jumped up and down slapping at my leg. While continuing to scream.
Soon, two wild eyed daughters stood at the doorway, with their father positioned behind them. So that if I were battling a burglar (which is what they all supposed) the children would have made an excellent shield.
SOMETHING IS CRAWLING UP MY LEG! They continued staring at me. I continued jumping up and down swatting at my leg. Because, no matter what it was, I didn’t want it going up any further.
I looked down at the ground, just as a large cockroach fell out of my pants leg. Well. A portion of a cockroach fell out of my pants leg. Evidently he left his entrails behind on my leg. A souvenir, if you will.
Fiddledaddy took care of the remains. While I stumbled back into the house to look for something strong to drink. Alas, all I found was tomato juice. It would have to do.
The children went back to bed. Always thankful for a little excitement. Which I’m happy to provide. And as I stood in the kitchen, I thought I felt a little something else moving around in my pants leg.
So, I did what anyone in their right mind would do. I dropped trow in my kitchen. But what I experienced must have been a phantom cock roach, because nothing was there.
And as luck would have it, at the same time I noticed that the front curtain was open. Giving the neighbors, and any passing car a lovely view of my kitchen.
Right then and there the property value of our house dropped even further.
Leading me to believe that this may not be the right time to cut bait and move somewhere that boasts of limited amphibians and cockroaches. I hang my head in sorrow.
I once killed a large cockroach in the pantry of an apartment I lived in while I was a struggling artist in Los Angeles. The weapon was a heavy shoe thrown from across the room. And I left it there to serve as a warning to other cockroaches. Fiddledaddy will attest to that incident, when he asked me to explain why a long dead cockroach was stuck to my wall.
And yet he married me anyway.
He found himself with a mixed bag, my friends. A mixed bag indeed.