A Bug in the System

It's after 10:00. Everyone is asleep. I'm sitting alone downstairs waiting for a roach to come back out from behind the stove. This is the part I really hate about being a man. Gender role reversal aside, I still am responsible for killing bugs in the house. And I really, really hate killing bugs. I mean, I'm no buddist purist that won't kill anything. I'd just as soon they die. But the whole me killing them really takes a lot out of me. I just want to run screaming from the room. It's worse when I'm by myself like tonight. When the Doctor's around, I suck it up, grab the shoe or paper towel and go about my manly duties. Alone, I procrastinate by writing about it.

These suckers are huge, too. Not like the ones I saw back in the midwest. We saw two a couple of nights ago and managed to chase them out the door. Actually, the ran into a small hutch we have, and we just carried that outside and chased them out of that. I think their appearance has something to do with the weather and possibly the construction going on just out back of our townhome. If I wasn't so deeply concerned about the chemicals in a roach spray, I'd be going after them with Dow in one hand and Monsanto in the other. But with SkyGirl so young and vulnerable to even the slightest of toxins, I feel we have to go the mechanical route. Sealing the perimeter and smashing the intruders. The problem is, I have no idea where they are coming in. Who knows what small crevice, what minute fissure lurks behind cabinets, under baseboards. I can't hermetically seal the house.

Okay, I'm off for another scouting report. If I'm lucky, he's had a heart attack and is flat on his back in the middle of the kitchen.