Our fall has been an interesting rhythm of marriage as Carson has traveled weekly recruiting for Mercer. We usually see each other at least once a week, and this weekend I even get to visit him in D.C. And during our sometimes brief time together this fall, I am reminded how much better my life is when Carson is home. My best friend and companion is there to talk with me, to laugh with me, and hang out with me.
Then there are the raw, practical moments where it is adamantly clear life would be better to have Carson home. Case in point: last night sitting on the couch reading, as something caught my eye. A large roach scurried into the middle of the living room. For those of you who do not know, this has always been a point of vulnerability for me. I think its their size, speed, and crunchiness. And the antennas.
The first step was constructing a plan that did not involve me touching or having to hit the roach due to said crunchiness. I had enough room to move around the roach and grab the vacuum cleaner. The noisy chase led the roach behind the kitchen trashcan. Texted my friend Aimee who recommended Raid. None in the house. Googled solutions and was relieved that I am not the only person online searching "how to kill a roach without touching it." Hairspray could work. I uncovered the roach and doused him with Tresemme 24-Hour Body. His shell looked great, but he quickly retreated under our dining room cabinet. I never saw him again that night, but I went to bed with the door closed and a towel stuffed under the bottom. I hoped not to see him again, and felt honorable by giving him the chance to live and never make his presence known in our home again.
7:30pm tonight: I'm reading in our bedroom when said roach crawls out from under our dryer just outside the bedroom door. I'm still confident in the hairspray and begin the chase again. He runs into the bedroom and slides behind a small bookcase. Now he has taken it to the next level - I can't sleep knowing he is in the room. For a brief moment, I consider sleeping on the couch.
I hairspray behind the bookcase hoping to fumigate him (as evidenced now by the stain on the wall). After several minutes, the darn thing literally begins peeking out from behind the bookcase. Now I know he's screwing with me. As a go to grab a shoe, one of my last resorts, he goes back to hiding. This time, I call my sister for a pep talk. As we are trying to psych me up for this, he runs out into the bathroom. Hairspray in one hand, shoe in the other. I trap him in a corner and then he runs at me. With Lindsay on speaker phone to hear my shrills and "creative" language, I smashed the roach with my shoe. And then more hairspray for good measure. I swept him into a dustpan and dropped him in the toilet. Game Laura.
It's pretty ridiculous that a 27 year-old can't woman up and kill a roach, and that it takes her 24 hours, text messaging, googling, and a phone call to do so. But I am pretty proud of myself nonetheless. It would have been better to have Carson at home to take care of it immediately, but instead I have a pretty embarrassing and overly lengthy blogpost about it.
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