Hi, I am Sam's Mommy and I'm Neurotic!

If you were a fly on the wall of my marriage for about thirty minutes (provided its either a Thursday or a Sunday when Andy and I are home together), you will learn three important things about my husband. The first is that he really doesn't care to hear the itemized run down of how much money I saved at the grocery store, he thinks Itunes is, hands down, the best invention of all time and he really really really doesn't want to hear about my hatred of bugs anymore.

I feel sorry for him some days as he really didn't know this about me before we got married. They surely don't cover this stuff in premarital counseling. His first two experiences with me and bugs were in our apartment (you know...above Dick and Dick). Because of the "state" of their place, we got a few escaped visitors. Now, I don't know what size roaches are where you live, but here they practically pass as small dogs. I mean, you might put a dish of water down for your dog one day and suddenly realize that A.) you don't own a dog and B.) if you did, it certainly wouldn't have antennae...that's all I'm saying. So when the first visitor arrived (I make it sound like a heavenly visit of the Magi), I was up late watching t.v. and my over-worked, over-exhausted husband was trying to get a few hours of sleep before his alarm clock woke him up at 4AM. I was happily minding my own business when I locked eyes with the visitor behind the t.v. and went into full panic mode. I chased it through the house to my bathroom, where we stared at each other in fear and defiance...I was breathing so heavy, I could have been hired on the spot for the Blair Witch Project part 2 and I, as I had intended, managed to wake my husband. He was not happy. He thought I was being ridiculous. Don't tell him that I secretly know he was right.

The second incident involved a gigantic spider blocking the door into my apartment and the feeling that I might have to live on the front porch til Andy came home. Now, I completely buy into the theory that whether the chemical you spray on the bug poisons it or drowns it makes no difference...it will still die. That's the whole point. The only thing I had to spray was a very fancy, very expensive car tire shiner that my husband religiously sprayed on his truck tires twice a month. Who cares, this was a life or death situation...okay, maybe it wasn't life or death, but I'm pretty sure missing 24 was not on the agenda. End of the story goes like this...I got in the house, caught the full show and when Andy came home he asked me why the front door had a nice high gloss shine.

So fast-forward to our house we live in now. We do have an Orkin man, but our house is fifty years old...we were not here first. Every fall, when the weather dries out and cools down...we get some "visitors" of the roach persuasion (My scalp is itching as I type this). I know they are just trying to survive, but I take it very personally. I feel violated, I feel on edge, I don't take my shoes off and I try to sleep sitting straight up with my eyes open. I find myself sitting on the couch trying to have conversations with Andy as my eyes dart from baseboards to ceiling corners...I can't even concentrate. Now, we've maybe seen a total of 8 of them in the two years I have lived here... but this is, utterly beside the point. I don't like them, they are not invited, go away!

We moved in here during the fall and I could barely muster up the courage to unpack boxes after finding a dead one, petrified in my spice cabinet (please refer back to the blog title). So tonight, and the reason for the random blog, I killed two visitors, back to back, different species (I've even researched their types and habits...I'm getting the feeling you still don't believe how nuts this makes me) one in the kitchen floor and one in the hall next to Sam's room. As I'm bludgeoning the one next to Sam's room, I caught myself saying, "You will not get my baby you stupid bug." You are probably no longer wondering why this topic is a particularly irritating one for Andy.

As I write this, my sweet, ever-patient husband is sitting in the den hoping I've gone to bed so he doesn't have to hear about how strange I think it is to kill two in different rooms of different species within five minutes of each other. In fact, I bet if I walked in there right now, he'd ask me to tell that really interesting story about how I saved $4 on my contact solution at the grocery store this weekend.