Too much grossness for one day

The light was out, the window open to let in the night breezes, and peace had settled over the house. Then I heard a buzz and a small thwacking sound as some lowlife from the dark came through the open window. Lisa kindly turned on the light so I could see what it was- I'd rather escort it back out than have it bumping into things (and me) all night. I thought it might be a moth. I like moths.
It wasn't a moth. It was the biggest, shiniest, more horrendous cockroach I had ever seen. His antennae were longer than his rust-red body which was over two inches long (I am guessing- I didn't feel like measuring him at the time), when he moved it was with the quickness of lightning, and he was on the suitcase at the foot of my bed.
I shrieked. Every primeval female instinct revolted against his very existence. I hated him instantly. So did Lisa apparently; she also screamed.

After that we all sort of stood around testing each others defenses. I think he probably had the upper hand psychologically, and he was certainly faster than we- but then, he didn't have God on his side. Besides, we were fighting for Our Very Lives. It was him or us. "They really are part of the curse, aren't they?" says Lisa in a respectful voice. "Of course, that's why I said they were from hell!" (we won't mention the name of the person who said that)

Really now, can you imagine saying, "Oh well, we can co-exist peacefully. We'll go to sleep and let him wave his antennae in peace." The only good cockroach is a dead cockroach in my opinion.

So anyway, after we had stood around sizing each other up, we started discussing possibilities. We could scoop him up in some container and throw him out the window (the second story window and may he fall hard). We could squish him. With what? Well, there is Lisa's sneaker. Okay, but who is going to do the squishing? I was all for him being permanently dead, but really one of the most psycologically horrible things about big bugs is the sound they make when you squish them. Its all you, Lisa.

Meantime he decided to make a move- he darted forward under the handle of the suitcase. We shrieked again. How fast and horrible he was!

At this point I was standing on my bed and Lisa was crouched on her's contemplating retrieving her sneaker. It was too close to the suitcase for comfort. But brave Lisa picked it up, tested its weight, and with various howls and shrieks of disgust started to swing at him. But sadly, you can't swing with your eyes closed- and just looking at him was too much. She stopped mid-swing and retreated to find a bigger shoe. That would be mine. This time she really swung! and missed! and there he was waving at us from inside Lisa's backpack on the floor! We screamed again, and Lisa swung again. He disappeared. I put my shoes on and stood on my bed waiting for him to appear again. He didn't, so we carefully picked up the things on the floor one by one, moved the bed a bit. He wasn't around. Definitely not good. If we don't find him, I say to Lisa, I am moving out.

I kicked at a stack of papers on the floor, and suddenly he was there, as big as an elephant and twice as ugly!

But sadly (for him), though he may be able to manipulate our emotions, he can't really change the fact that he is really only two inches long and I have huge feet. I can scream and stomp at the same time.

Wads of toilet paper make a nice shroud, my shoes rest in a place of honor not unlike King David's sword, and peace and darkness descend once more.

But not before I close the window.