Cockroaches

I hate cockroaches.

I hate cockroaches with a fervent, undying hatred usually reserved for infomercials and people who cut me off in traffic.

I hate everything about them – their shiny, smooth backs, wavy antennae, barbed little legs, and ability to appear out of nowhere when I least expect it, like a tiny, evil, insect Batman.

I can’t even kill them without going through an elaborate “icky dance,” which involves a lot of high-pitched shrieking, shuddering, and spastic waving of hands. I have been known to “quarantine” a cockroach and wait for my husband and/or one of the cats to take care of it rather than trying to smoosh it myself.

I haaaaaaaate them.

I went to college in South Carolina, where they have the mother of all cockroaches, the palmetto bug. These are not like the tame Texas roaches I encountered growing up that scuttle away as soon as a light hits them. No, these are humongous, aggressive, flying cockroaches that are unfazed by flipping on the lights and/or hysterical screaming. They are also virtually indestructible. I once saw one survive multiple direct hits with a Doc Martin, a dousing with Raid, and a trip down the toilet.

My sophomore dorm was infested with these unsavory creatures.

So, one night when I had the room to myself, I was taking a relaxing hot shower after hitting the gym. I was washing my hair, not really thinking about anything, just peaceably enjoying my shower, when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned slowly, hands still in my sudsy hair. There, sitting daintily astride the shower curtain rod, was a palmetto bug the size of a kitten.

I froze. My heart lurched in alarm. The bug rearranged itself slowly, carefully lifting and placing one leg at a time. Adrenaline surged through my system. I developed tunnel vision, laser-focusing on the rotating bug. It stopped turning when it was looking directly at me. We studied each other for enough time for several species to evolve and go extinct. I read malevolent purpose in its beady little eyes. Then, IT FLEW DIRECTLY AT MY FACE.

I totally lost it. I started screaming incoherently, ripping down the shower curtain in my haste to get out of the bathroom. I charged into my room, shuddering and flapping my hands, yelling “KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!”

And that’s when I noticed that my roommate had come home and that she had her boyfriend over. Moreover, I had neglected to grab my robe in my speedy exit from the bathroom. I hesitated, my fear of cockroaches vying for supremacy with my fear of being naked in front of others. I compromised by diving into the closet.

My roommate’s boyfriend, being a gentleman, was kind enough to hunt down the roach in the bathroom, kill it, and retrieve my robe, albeit while laughing hysterically.

And that’s how my roommate’s boyfriend saw me naked.