The plastic roaches. If you missed it, go back and read it while I wait here. Go on. Time's a-wastin'!
Yeah, I'm not one for patience, so I'll continue and those slackers can catch up later. Ha.
So I had this neighbor, back before we moved to the Pacific Northwest. For (your) protection purposes, we'll call her Pammy.
Pammy and I were pretty darn good friends. Her kids were older than mine and would occasionally babysit for me. Pammy and I would meet in her driveway every morning at 6:30am to
sprint walk the mile route around our neighborhood. We talked about all kinds of things in our lives. She had good advice for me, I was a good listener, etc. Pammy also had a sense of humor, which worked out really well for me because I like to think that the world is my oyster (That doesn't even really make sense. I like to use people as humor guinea pigs. I like to make fun of things. A LOT).
For instance, I picked up a garden gnome at Wal-Mart. For
fun evil purposes. He was your typical blue gnome guy with a hat, beard and he was holding a shovel. We even named him (I can't really remember what it was though).
When I got home, new gnome in tow, I noticed Pammy's car was gone. Score. I used her key to get in (never trust me not to do a little B&E while you're out!) and put the gnome behind the milk carton in her fridge.
The next morning, I found the Gnome in my shower.
You can see where this went. Pammy even dressed the gnome up as a leprechaun for St. Patty's day and had the kids do a treasure hunt. She was pretty creative.
Well, eventually I started dropping the ball on the gnome thing (55 hour work-weeks and kids and soccer and girl scouts and karate andandandand--). After all, there are only so many places to hide a gnome and we'd pretty much used them all.
Before school one morning (October 3, 2010 at 7:32am. I know because I will never forget. OR FORGIVE HER.) I was making my kids' lunches. I selected four pieces of bread and put them on the cutting board. As I separated the slices, my fingers touched something before my eyeballs saw it. I peeled back the bread and three cockroaches fell onto the cutting board.
The shriek that came exploding out of my face could have been heard three towns away. Swear to God. I saw vermin with wiggly feelers, beady little eyes and they were staring at me. Attempting to assassinate me. I was flinging bread and butter knives and dishtowels and everything I could reach, all while screaming bloody murder.
Eventually I calmed down and realized they were not, in fact, man-eating cootie bugs, but simply rubbery insects with dead, dull eyes. Instantly, I knew we'd been infiltrated. Pammy.
I started opening cupboard doors and searching though everything. My kitchen looked like a war zone. Everything went on the counters, floor, any available surface while I tried to smoke those little nasties out.
I have compiled a list of places that were contaminated by the infestation. These are in no particular order:
- Cereal boxes - all 4
- sugar container
- ovaltine tub
- snack jar
- tea tin
- mayonaise jar
- one roach between every piece of bread in the loaf
- box of rice
- under the cutting board (it was like a graveyard under there)
- in the pots and pans
- in the silverware drawer
- in the bottle of asprin
- on a chair at the kitchen table
- toaster oven and microwave
- IN MY SHAMPOO BOTTLE
I did what anyone would do. I started hiding them in her house.