Battle Royal

We live in the woods. And it is just a fact that if you live in the woods, you will have bugs and critters around that you probably never knew existed if you lived in, say, a 3rd floor walkup. Then you'd have roaches.

So I'm used to finding spiders on the windows and seeing tons of deer and fox in my backyard. I wasn't even too surprised when my husband yelled in from the garage one day that I had to be quiet so that he could corner the mole he found in there. You have not lived until you've seen a mole in your house. They've got those creepy-looking white glove hands. I felt like maybe I should dress it up in a little top hat and tux and do a rendition of "Hello My Baby" with it.

But I will never get used to what I found in my bathtub this morning as I turned on the water to take a shower. See, I didn't have my glasses on, so it was a little blurry at first. I thought maybe a little hairball had formed, as hairballs often do in my shower. But no. I only wish it was a hairball.

Instead, it was a disgusting, giant, hairy monster thousand-leg bugs. Those assholes need their own island where they can scare the living shit out of one another and leave the rest of us alone. Holy crap!! I turned the water all the way to hot and started splashing that sucker so that he would move toward the drain. No such luck - at least not at first.

I contemplated skipping my shower today. But then I remembered that I didn't shower yesterday (NO, I'm not that much of a dirtball - I showered the night before last).

It took a good five minutes of me splashing and him scurrying toward the edge of the tub to finally drown him. And then I still wasn't sure he was dead. I think he was swimming actually. Somehow, though, he finally made his way to the drain, but my drain has tiny holes to let the water down. This fat-ass motherfucking shithead wasn't going to fit. Ugh. I watched his body swirl around and around in the water, hoping that the force of it would break him into tiny pieces so that he'd just slide down the drain, one leg at a time. That didn't happen. But shit, I really needed to get a move on! After all, today was also a shaving day.

But finally, when I was sure he was good and dead, I gathered about ten paper towels and my courage, picked him up and threw him away.

No wonder I'm exhausted and it's only 10 a.m. I hate being traumatized first thing in the morning.