Bug-a-phobic

Sometimes I am really pathetic.

Lately it seems as though our apartment is trying to force me into insanity with its numerous spiders, millipedes, and other various Minions from Hell.  Fortunately, Mr. W is able to dispose of the majority of these disgusting beasties.  Friday evening I was watching a movie alone [Mr. W works his store on Friday nights] and this quarter-sized, pale yellow spider goes streaking across the wall behind the TV.  I mean, this thing was straight out of a Silent Hill game, no doubt plotting the best way to devour my immortal soul.

“Mr. W is not here to kill it and there is NO WAY IN HELL we can let that thing go about its business!” my brain decided as it sprung my feet into a run and thoughtfully commanded my hand to pick up a shoe on the way over.  Screeching in fear, I hit the spider with the shoe as hard as I could [leaving a good shoe print on the wall while simultaneously pulverizing the spider into smaller, twitching, pale yellow spider bits].

Now, you can’t just throw something like that in the trash.  Even if it is in pieces.  In the back of my mind I can imagine it piecing itself back together and coming for me in my sleep.  No, I held the shoe away from me as far as I could as I walked to bathroom while crying and staring at the spider, daring it to move, and promptly flushed it.  Then, still shaking, I cleaned up the wall and ate some ice cream.

Last night [the other night that Mr. W works his store], I was watching Dancing with the Stars and a 2-inch millipede crawled up the wall behind the TV.  It was moving slower and I moved slower, grabbing a shoe but praying I wouldn’t have to use it.

“Okay, vile creature of Satan, I promise not to squish you if you promise not to move,” I offered.  It stopped moving, seemingly receptive to my deal.  I called Mr. W.

Me: “Hey, any chance you will be home soon?”
Mr. W: “Not for another 20 or 25 minutes.  Why?”
Me: “Giant millipede.”
Mr. W: “Ah, I’m sorry.”
[The evil millipede, sensing my purpose behind the call and realizing that he wouldn’t come out of this encounter alive, started crawling again.] Me: “Gottagobye!”

Again, another demonic creature falls pray to the shoe.  And again, it must be flushed.  I wasn’t nearly as shaky as with the spider, though still crying.  When Mr. W came home I dissolved into this pathetically pitiful pile of emotion.  He held me while I cried for a little while and reassured me that there aren’t bugs hiding around every corner waiting to overtake me.

Then we ate some ice cream.

What do you think?