When a Roach Just Isn't A Roach

Chris' post over at CDV got the ol' memories flowing today. His topic? The lovely Palmetto Bug.

Those of you who have not lived in the South would argue that a roach is a roach. No ma'am. Indeed the Palmetto Bug is SuperHero of RoachWorld. He is the Emperor of that which is the Insect Dark Side.

See, they are big. Like the size of your thumb big. And they fly. Fast.

Let me share a few of my favorite memories for your blogging pleasure.

The College Years
The first time I stepped on one in my dorm, this thing's exoskeleton held my weight, as in balancing on one foot weight, for a good three-count before it finally gave up the ghost. I swear I felt as if I had stepped on a mouse.

Or the time boyfriend-now-Hubbie sprayed roach-genocide-foam all over one in his apartment and the thing ran all around the living room like a giant white tennis ball. Under the couch back up again, blindly zig-zagging across the room until he pounded it to death into the carpet with globs of foam flying everywhere all the while the both of us screaming and hopping up and down. I believe the cover of his textbook was ultimately ruined.

Apartment Living
Or the time I could heard a scraping click-click noise. I triangulated until I determined it was coming from my bedroom window. The Palmetto bug was (thankfully) on the outside of the mini-blinds, using each individual piece as a ladder to climb it. I could see its little feet as it climbed "rung by rung".

Or the time I opened the medicine cabinet to get my contact lenses and one fucking jumped out at me like some kind of sadistic monster-in-the-box. I learned to pound on the mirror and listen for a few minutes before I opened the medicine cabinet in the mornings.

Our Condo
My favorite is the catch-and-release program we had going on at the condo we owned in ATL. These things make such a mess when you kill them that they will ruin your carpet or your paint job. So sweet, laid-back Hubbie would chase the thing down with a plastic cup, slide a CD-case underneath it, pick it up and throw it out the door. One of the proudest moments of my life came when our nice but preachy neighbor came to visit while I was preggo with LittleBird. We saw one, he caught it. He looked at me. I looked at him. We looked at my neighbor. He started shaking the giant bug in the cup and lunged at her. Her shrieks of Holy Sweet Jesus Save Me! as only an African-American Evangelical Christian can as he chased her around the living room nearly had me pissing myself.

The lessons I learned?

• It doesn't matter how clean you keep your house. If you live south of the gnat line (that would be Macon to you non-Southern folks) you just have to accept them as a part of life.
• My cats are lazy fuckers smarter than you think and give these things a wide berth.
• Most people have a story of waking up with one on their face, as Chris so eloquently blogs.
• Hubbie may try and charm you, but he is married to me and that means he has a wicked sense of humour when the mood suits him. God I love that man.