I am revolted by most insects, especially cockroaches. (Incidentally, I realize that my fear of them is truly silly). I have blogged about my encounters with Manhattan insects (should you feel compelled to explore these experiences for yourself) here and here.
The other night I got up around 3 AM to use the restroom. I hate flipping on the light in the middle of the night, because that is when I am most likely to see a roach, fleeing, usually out of the corner of my eye–those hideous beasts are fast. Don’t get the wrong idea, please, my apartment is not a roach-festival–I lay down a million traps and keep a pretty clean place–but I cannot spray insecticides because of my pet birds and fish. So every now and then I come across a roach. Why am I justifying this to you, gentle reader? If you are from the tri-state area, you know that they are a fact of life here.
So, I’m sitting in the restroom, bleary-eyed, mostly asleep, and what do I see in the bathtub but a disgusting cockroach? At least he was very small and relatively inoffensive. At 3 AM, I was in no mood to physically engage him (as if I ever am), so I grabbed the bleach from underneath the sink, set the nozzle to ‘stream,’ and soaked him. Soaked him. If I soaked you with bleach in that manner, gentle reader, you would die. I am certain of it.
The roach rolled over onto its back and appeared to be perishing.
I washed my hands and went to back to bed, thinking that I would wash his body down the drain in the morning.
Well, guess what (I know that you know where this is going).
I rolled out of bed later that morning and went to take a shower.
There was no dead roach in the bathtub. Or the bathroom. I searched and searched.
Somehow, improbably, he survived. Not only did he live, he managed to run away home.