Thursday, December 27, 2007

Reason number 19 I need to move.

I was getting ready to leave my apartment this afternoon and saw a dark blotch on the side of my armchair, which looked like a splash of water. Maybe when I came out of the bathroom after showering I somehow - no, not possible, not in that location. I stooped down to see it more closely and it was a huge June bug. Hey, I've seen them in May and July but never December! Ghastly looking creatures.

I slammed it with a rolled up magazine, it fell to the floor and I slammed it again, but when I picked up the magazine (which had fallen from my hands), there was no bug. Shook out the magazine, no bug. Started wigging out, moving everything in sight, where is the bug? Oh god, my boots are in the hallway a foot or so away, one lying on its side, a big safe cavern for the bug to crawl into. How frightening is the thought of sticking your feet into the dark pit of an empty boot, contemplating that?

Much peering into the boot under the living room lamps, crawling on the floor, and finally, a dark lump under the armchair. Looks like the bug on its back, still and silent. Okay, I have ten minutes until the movie I've been gunning for all day starts, and I decide to leave the bug where he is. To die, or finish dying, or something. I'll take care of him when I return.

(Early scene in the movie - Helena Bonham Carter killing big roaches on her pie-making table. My hands trembled each time I reached into the popcorn bag. This was not supposed to be the part you shuddered most at during "Sweeney Todd.")

Home, peeking back under the armchair, and he's GONE. Arrgggh! I look everywhere, and he is nowhere to be found. Can I be sure he was under the armchair? Oh, lord. I just have to assume that he has escaped, gone somewhere else for good to die.

Just now, a few hours later, running back from errands, a big bug greets me from the bottom of the stairs in the hallway. Could it be him? The opening under my apartment door is plenty big enough for his escape (it's big enough for a blustery draft on days the back neighbors leave the back door open) and the armchair is just a couple of feet from the door. I smacked him twice with a rolled-up Entertainment Weekly - did he really recover enough to run out?

Or is the building infested?


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