You know it has gotten bad when I am geniunely excited about spending money on pest control. But it’s true, so true.
The Roaches are taking over. It’s time to fight back.
Now, I realize that when you live in Savannah, you are in serious Roach territory (I capitalize Roach because these are no ordinary roaches, they are forces to fear). I was prepared for the occasional red, crunchy bug. But lately, they’ve gotten out of control.
Not only have I found TWO on my pillow since I moved into this house, Lee had one run up his leg this morning in the bathroom. Last night, Millie was scratching at the door at 2 a.m., and often it’s because she wants water. I got up and stumbled into the kitchen to fill her bowl. I was half awake/mostly asleep, and when I turned on the light I thought I saw one Roach scramble away. Gross, but no big deal. Then I turned on the water, and I swear, FIVE of them came running out of the sink. I threw her bowls, backed away and let out one of those stupid half cry/half screams that girls emit in scary movies when they are about to meet their death. I knew it was silly. Roaches cannot Hurt me, Sting me, or Eat me. But I fear them, and they can smell it.
I truly believe they are hunting me. Just this afternoon, I was putting some bags in the backseat, when I saw four dead Roaches in the floorboard of my car. MY CAR! They aren’t supposed to haunt me there, too! Is there nowhere I am safe? One day, I will be driving along, and one will run up my pants leg and I will have a wreck and they will win.
But today, I began to fight back. I called the Pest Control Man. And he’s coming on Thursday, armed with all sorts of Anti-Roach goodies. Sure, that may mean that the house will be littered with dead roach bodies for weeks to come as they die, but I don’t mind. I’ll sweep up their lifeless forms with a smile. It’s not like me to want any living thing to die. I used to just want Roaches to stay away from me. But that’s changing. They’ve gone too far this time.