Thursday, August 14, 2008

Zen and the art of pest control.

When I sat down at the computer this morning, I almost set my cup of coffee on this:


Could there be a more disgusting way to start the day?

When I first spotted it, I completely froze. I sat two feet from the little bugger with my body jerked unnaturally away and my face contorted into the unmistakable "ew" face. I couldn't move a muscle.

Bill had just left for work and I considered running out the front door and chasing down his car screaming, "Help, help! There's a bug in the house! Come BAAAAAAACK!!!"

But that would mean I'd have to run. Hmm.

Maybe instead I could squash him with the laptop or, at least, place the lap top on him, book it the hell out of there and quarantine the room for the rest of the day? It seemed like a fairly reasonable solution until it occurred to me that, as much as I didn't want to admit it, this ugly man-sized bug might be a roach.

If legend and folk lore held true, roaches were like as old as dinosaurs and could survive anything, no matter what. I pictured him pushing the lap top off his body with one spiky arm and saying (in a Spanish accent for some reason), "Ha! You're a fool to think you could stop me, lady. Don't you know I'm a ROACH?"

Or, ew, even worse? What if I missed him or startled him and he fell to to the ground and scurried somewhere else in the house? Scurrying is completely unsettling to me. I've seen a mouse scurry up Bill's leg before and would be dammed if I was going to put myself in that situation.

But I couldn't just sit there frozen all day. At some point I would have to do something.

Then I remembered that when we had mice, taking pictures of them helped me regroup and chill the F out. Maybe it would be the same with SeƱor Roach? (Why the heck is he Spanish?)

My camera was within reach so I grabbed it and started shooting. Sure enough, the moment I got him in the frame, he stopped being so disgusting. I was shooting him. I was the boss now. If I said stay there and don't even think about scurrying, he would have no choice but to listen.

After I snapped a couple shots, I did the unthinkable: picked up the paper he was on and carried it outside. He was like 2 inches from my hand. One of his ginormous antanae could have touched me at any time. He could have scurried up my arm and into my hair for goodness sake. I, of course, wasn't thinking about these terrifying possibilities at the time. I was just taking deep, calming breaths and walking oh-so-carefully towards the door.

The picture turned out very film noir, wouldn't you say? Shooting in black and white wasn't a creative choice so much as a power, point, click, done sort of thing. I set the camera to black and white the night before when I was taking pictures of Liam on the potty. Black and white seemed a little less paparazzi, a little more you'll appreciate this someday. No?

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