So tonight, while making use of the facilities, I happened to look to my right, into my 1970’s mustard coloured tub with it’s mismatched tiles, discoloured grout and rust stained drain. Being that I am an unfailingly (ha…ahhahaha…haaaaahahahaha) amazing housekeeper, I was immediately suspect of the large black dot near the back of the tub. Surely, this couldn’t be a misdirected dust bunny or speck of dirt or lint (see above, re: amazing housekeeping), so I peered harder.
It became clear to me at that moment that I did not have the level of privacy that I thought I did whilst using the ladies room. No no. This was now a communal bathroom. I was sharing my space with the Scariest Fucking Tub Bug of All Time.
I finished doing what I was doing and leaned over the tub’s edge to assess my newfound tub invader. This thing was huge. I didn’t think that bugs this big existed above the Mason-Dixon line. I live way too far north to be dealing with bugs the size of housecats. I observed it and tried to think of a plan of attack.
I thought of going downstairs and making the boyfriend deal with it, but he’s no good at big scary bugs. I then thought about turning on the shower and spraying it back down the drain from whence it came. But then I got worried that he might get a rush of bug adrenaline and scuttle over the edge of the tub, setting him free into the whole house and creating a dangerous sleeping environment. I thought about finding some large flat surface to squish him with, but as I creeped backwards slowly, he moved. I did NOT want to go get said killing object and come back to find that he’d disappeared to who knows where, I wanted to know his whereabouts.
I resigned myself to the fact that this bug was going to have to be squished by my hand. And that it was probably going to be crunchy.
Steeling myself for the crunch of his exoskeleton, I wadded up some toilet paper, emitted a girly squeal and smashed my fingers down on him, grinding them against the tub to ensure death. I lifted up the toilet paper and he ran out from under, making a quick and desperate run to the safety of the drain. He had lost several appendanges, but still made impressive time. Impressive, but futile. I was in it now, halfway through committing murder and I wasn’t about to leave any eyewitnesses. He had to die.
Smash number two involved the heel of my hand, and a quick twist of the wrist. This time, when I lifted up the toilet paper, he was in several bloody pieces and not moving. This is just the way I like my bugs. Now, not being a fool and being very untrusting of bug corpses, I wasn’t about to just throw him into the garbage. Bugs are crafty and he could have been not entirely dead, and then he could have stayed there, ramping up his rage until I was sleeping soundly, where he would crawl out of his toilet paper coocoon and come assault me in my room. I dumped him into the toilet and flushed. So long, bug.
Then it occurred to me that the boyfriend had no idea of the battle that was raging upstairs. All he had heard was two flushes within quick succession of each other. This is obviously an indication of some gastrointestinal issue, and I didn’t want that undeserved embarassment. Naturally, my response to possible embarassment was to create concrete embarassment. I ran downstairs and reenacted the whole thing, complete with an interpretation of what the bug looked like. Since every good bug imitation involves the classic ‘antenna wiggling finger on the head thing, also synonymous with charging bulls imitations’ move, I included that in the story.
Sure, the boyfriend thinks I’m crazy and I made an ass of myself being all, ‘ZOMG, crazy bug story, watch me reenact it!’, but I know that I’ve at least won the war against nature for today and can sleep soundly tonight. Also, I totally met the quota on that whole ‘do one thing each day that scares you’ bullshit.
Giant Scary Tub Bug: 0, Talea: 1