The Encounter

A few weeks ago at the Mart we had an incident in the meat aisle. DramaGirl was singing Taylor Swift. MsDebate was by my side talking about the grocery list and what needed to be added to it. Hoover sat in the cart talking to everyone that went by and singing with his sister -until - He spotted a Palmetto bug. He screamed at the top of his toddler lungs "Ewwww, NASNEEEEEE a “CROCKCROACH”-Look sistors, Ewwwww NASNEE!!!! Get it; It’s a “CROCKCROACH”!!! It’s in the MEAT!!!!!"

As the passer Byers looked on I was horrified. DramaGirl ran screaming 20 feet ahead for safety. An employee heard the chaos and came out quickly to avert attention. "Geeze, that’s Florida for ya! We spray ALL the time!" He spoke loudly with purpose, and then the crunch of death was heard... (Clean up in the "gross image" in my head aisle. Clean up in the "gross image" in my head aisle).

Hoover continued sharing the “crockcroach” warning in the meat with everyone that passed by until I thwarted him with a free sugar cookie from the bakery.

I’m not an overly girly-girl but there’s something about a palmetto bug that just seems wrong. I should never have to deal with them. With three girls in the house this is an issue. When one shows its mug (usually in the back play room (great) because it’s right off the pool) we all freak out. MsDebate fortunately seems to be the one gal who will kill them if bribed properly. She does this with little or no screaming, she has saved our lives many times and will even dispose of the remains (I love her, I’ll not trade her in just for that!).

DramaGirl on the other hand, screams like a banshee and locks herself in her room for at least 20 minutes, cracking the door to make sure the coast is clear. I am almost just as bad.

One day MsDebate had the cruel idea of throwing a raisin towards the door at one of the door cracking intervals. Now really as a mother I should have been against this idea from the get go. But I’m not right so I considered some factors before making my final decision:

1. Trauma factor: How long would it take to talk her off drama’s edge?

2. Ammo: As many times as she has embarrassed me, this would be a perfect story for the arsenal of the "embarrassing things to tell your boyfriend" list I am compiling

3. Laugh factor: How high on the scale would this be AFTER the fact? (DramaGirl actually LOVES telling stories like this and months after hits me with a play by play recap. It sounds like this: "Remember when I… (Fill in blank).... awwww,,,, good times mommy!! (Dramatic pause) GOOD TIMESSSSS!"

I decided to fly with it (don’t judge I know I’m awful). It went down just as I thought it would and she did end up laughing about it. And Hoover, before I could stop him, ended up eating the raisin saying: "see, jus’ a raisin Ri-wey, jus’ a raisin!"

Now to get to the REAL reason I am writing this nasnee tale today:

Wanna hear about it? Of course you do! Here I go:

A little over a month ago I had a major problem in the garage. A HUGE “crockcroach” met me about 3 feet in front of the door every time I opened it. He would scurry to me unafraid.

In my head I envisioned an old time western gunfight. Dust swirling in the air, saloon music playing in the background. Tumbleweeds rolling past while the famous gunfight whistle song plays loudly (interactive blog request: whistle this: woo-wee-woo-wee-wooooooooo,, dun, DUN DUN. Hey it worked in MY head, maybe there’s something wrong with your whistling!)

There I am in the middle of the road looking sexy in my chaps and studded hat, holstered Raid cans inches from my readied hands. “Crockcroach” staring me down ready to play chicken with me (what, like he would have a gun holster or be wearing chaps, geeze,, it’s a BUG --- who’s got issues now! Laughing).

Anyway it went on like this for weeks, the same roach, the same position. How COULD it be the SAME roach I questioned myself? WEIRD!!!!! (I wondered if it was like a Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen twin thang, the roach siblings switched up as to not break any buggy labor laws, hmmmm).

We kinda had an agreement, he never scurried toward me and I respected his space. I talked to him firmly and he stayed outside.

I named him "Peeve" so he could be my “pet peeve” (I know I am sick, you know I’m sick, WHAT THE HALIBUT??)

A few days ago I had to go directly in his path, nervously I pulled out a fishing pole to convince him to go the other way for a bit. He didn’t move. I thought he had huge bug nads. I pushed harder. It was then that I confirmed the fact that I am a raging idiot!

I had been having a battle of wits with a dead bug. I’m not sure when he perished but I do know he won the honor of making me feel stupid with no contest.

(I share this story with you ONLY because I trust you will never tell anyone about my stupidity,, you’ll do this because you love me, thank you. I’m glad we understand each other!)