a little mishap

I've just had a little mishap.

Or potentially a small series of little mishaps punctuated by mildly relevant incidents, but I'll let you call it what you will.

What happened was I saw a cockroach.  I really hate cockroaches, so much so so that I'm really rather loathe to actually type out the word because it is gross and disgusting (And also, incidentally, a word I continually forget exists when my students are playing a spelling game that starts c-o-c- and I break in to beg them to please only use polite words and they get very confused because they can't see why "cockroach" is so rude.)

In any event, one of those atrocious insects showed itself dashing madly about my kitchen counter, then hiding (presumably panting its little lungs out) behind a clear blue vase, clearly deluded in its reverie that I could not see it there.

I could, which is why I was shouting, "go away, you miserable, decrepit little beast of atrociousness!" and trying to decide if it would be worth it to smush it with my flip flop on the kitchen counter or just let it scurry away of its own accord.

Thankfully it was just about that point that my friend Katie came into the kitchen and I quickly let her take over the realm of cockroach killery, seeing as she is Australian and tough and good at interacting with wildlife.

Katie managed somehow (it all happened rather fast) to catch the cockroach in a bowl in the sink and fill it with water, thereby beginning to drown the invader.  I breathed a sigh of relief, except for the fact there was still a half-dead cockroach in my sink.

"Shall we flush him?" I asked.

"Or throw him out the window," she said, "except you want to wait till he's dead."

"Why?" I asked, thinking the sooner we were rid of him, the better.

"Well, because he might not actually be dead and he might start to move and hit your finger," she said, looking up at me, who'd begun convulsing rather egregiously at the mention of cockroach coinciding with bare skin.

"You understand now," she said, laughing.

So we sat down to chat, and left the cockroach to take his time dying in the sink.

Incidentally (this is one of those mildly relevant incidents, in case you were wondering), Katie had very magnanimously agreed to drink out of my favorite mug, which is the one that formerly had the possibly dead lizard in it, and that I have henceforth been entirely incapable of drinking out of.  I told her the whole story and explained that she certainly did not have to drink from the mug, as goodness knows I wasn't, but that if she did, it might pave the way for me to one day be able to again use my favorite mug.  She very kindly agreed.  I told you she was tough.

Anyway, after she left, I decided it was time to dispose of the cockroach.  Throwing him out the window was highly tempting, but I remembered the neighbors beneath us aren't overly fond of us already (something about flushing toilets at night and waking them up), and I was afraid this would do rather permanent damage to our already rocky relationship.  I decided to flush him.

It was on the way to the bathroom with the full bowl of water and carcass that I remembered the light in the bathroom is out.  It has been out for a couple weeks now, because there has not been a boy around to change it, and I am perfectly happy to shower in the dark until someone avails himself to change my light bulb.  I did, however, begin to think that light could prove useful in the disposal of the insect.

Fortunately, light was not exactly required -- though it could potentially have averted the minor crisis that followed.  I had the foresight to lift both lids on the toilet, but seeing as that's not a maneuver I regularly perform, I forgot that they don't stay up particularly well.  So, what should have been a reasonably painless experience turned tragic when the lids came crashing down, spilling dirty water and dead cockroach all over the floor.  Thank goodness I didn't break the bowl.

Somehow or other I managed to get the bowl back to the kitchen and then actually (this deserves tremendous kudos, in my estimation) pick up the carcass with toilet paper and deposit it in the trash.  And then wash my hands sixteen times.

So now my hands are clean, but if you'll excuse me, I still have a tragically mired bathroom to clean.