Fear and Loathing In the Bathroom

I'm scared a lot these days. What if the new day job just isn't out there? And if it is, will I have a three-month honeymoon and then immediately hate it as I have almost all the others? How am I going to get by this time?

Fear has forced me to the second floor of my apartment complex. I live above the world for two reasons: 1) this lessens the chance of becoming robbed and beaten in the night, which is always a bonus 2) bugs must be avoided at all costs.

So far I've met with success on Goal One, but Goal Two was foiled last night when I flipped on the bathroom light and found the World's Largest Disgusting Bug sitting there looking at me. It was so nasty, you guys. It was just yooge. Pat Day could have thrown a saddle over this thing and ridden it in the Belmont.

I just-- I cannot stand bugs, and I cannot stand killing them. This is not out of some sort of unitard-wearing sensitivity to The Circle Of Life, but because I become completely yicked out by the sight of the smushed bug parts and that huge revolting crunching noise. As opposed to Flipper, who is an animal trainer and does loathsome things on behalf of rodents and fish on a routine basis; who I once saw very carefully pick up a spider off her living room carpet with her bare hands and then gently set it outside. Go forth and multiply, repulsive, disease-carrying spider! Born free!

So my solution is to Dustbust the little bastards. This makes for some interesting chase scenes, and yes I simply toss out the Dustbuster once a year or so and just get a new one rather than even contemplate the process of changing the bag, but at least that crunching is not involved.

Well, last night when WLDB made his appearance I happened to be on the phone with Flipper, who had a front row audio seat for the following: "EW! Oh, God, ew. The World's Largest Disgusting Bug is in my bathroom. Hold on a sec. (roar of Dustbuster) EW! Shit! Get over here, you little-- (sound of Dustbuster crashing into wall) Oh, crap, he went in the closet." Whereupon I settled the issue by slamming the closet door and pretending the whole thing never happened. The Dustbuster, however, remained at the ready.

And damn me if WLDB didn't grab a pair and wander back out of the closet. The process repeated itself maybe eight more times, me Dustbusting this thing behind various closets and filing cabinets. I wear cowboy boots with regularity but I couldn't herd this thing that was like 1/7000th my size. I sat on the floor of my bedroom and sorted through my credit card bills, always keeping one nervous eye out for The Trump Of All Bugs. I began to very seriously consider sleeping on the futon in the living room. You win, WLDB. You win the bedroom for the night.

But then he moved into the living room. Okay, now he was just taunting me. Once he wound up near the door, and I flung it open and actually stood there before the world in my nightgown trying to Dustbust him out onto the porch, ready to truce it out as long as he just left, but he would have none of it and scuttled behind a bookcase.

I faced up to it at last.

It was time for the shoe.

You have to choose carefully, when it comes to this. Using a book was out of the question. I have too much respect for books. And I didn't want to use a shoe I wear with regularity, as this procedure stood the chance of scraping bug guts onto something that would be actually touching my body, and I didn't want to use my work shoes, as it's tough enough to keep them in presentable shape anyway, so I grabbed the left version of this ugly pair of pinchy slipons I never wear anymore and yet fear giving away because you never know when life will call for such a thing. Women worry about this stuff--that the instant we toss something, our wardrobe will suddenly develop a desperate need for it-- which is why we hang onto plastic fuschia purses purchased in the waning edges of the Carter administration.

He re-emerged before long. I approached with the shoe. Gave him a whack. He ran away. Oh, it's a French bug. I trapped Pierre against the doorjamb and whack whack whack whack oh God this is so disgusting ew ew ew EW come on Tink be a woman get him!

He fell to the floor, upside down. There was a skittering noise as he kicked and spun almost as bad as the crushing, crunching sound. I administered one more blow, part of him flew across the floor, and it was over.

The Dustbuster was retrieved to clear the battlefield.

There! There. I did it. I put my hands on my hips. I would have spiked the carcass if it wouldn't have been so repulsive. Stupid nasty little thing, I beat you. I WIN.

I put away my credit card bills. I went to bed. The new day job awaits.

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