Even showering doesn’t stop them. They probably approach the last climb up the flowing drain of my bathtub as a challenging ascent through a waterfall. Out they clamber, giving each other leggy high-fives for their prowess, ignoring the cringing soapy giant cowering in the farthest corner of the tub, toes curled and squealing “Eeww, eeww!”
What brazenness! I stomped my heels in the tub, thinking the massive vibrations would send them scuttling back down the chute, but instead, they raced toward my naked toes. I screamed and flung myself from the tub, grabbing the shower curtain to steady myself and sending the entire curtain rod crashing down, dripping water everywhere.
My soapy feet slipped on the tile, and I ripped the towel bar from the wall in an effort to stay upright.
I looked back to see the cockroaches sitting in little bleachers, laughing and enjoying the show.
But I had the last laugh. I lunged for my Slipper of Death and pummeled the insolence out of them.
That didn’t seem to faze the other explorers, though. The next day, I was washing my face at the sink and opened my eyes to find myself face-to-mandibles with a humongous cockroach slithering from the drain. What chutzpah!
It didn’t have the decency to flinch or run, or even excuse itself or hand me a towel.
After my initial shock, I grimaced, “Adios, sucker,” and reached for my executioner slipper.
I’m sorry, but I feel no pity for this species of God’s creatures. They have the entire outdoors to frolic. I thought we had a deal: I don’t bother you outside, and you don’t bother me inside. Some of my own species might tell me the roaches are just doing what nature intended them to do: colonize my bathroom, where water and sloughed skin provide a yummy buffet.
But don’t expect me to put on an orange crossing guard vest and escort them back outside. And I don’t think Animal Control is going to send officers to catch the roaches and release them into the wild.
So it’s up to me, and the best I can do is post the tiny signs around the perimeter of my house that warn: ? NO TRESPASSING! VIOLATORS WILL BE SMASHED INTO GOO!
Honestly, if they ignore my warnings, fatal squishing is their own fault.
And really, for creatures having something like three billion years of adaptive experience, they should be smarter. Shouldn’t they have realized that, gosh, 230 billion of us skulked into houses and never returned, so therefore, houses must be an existential no-no?
Well, I’ll continue to give these disgusting cockroach explorers more teaching moments whenever they pop their beady little eyes above my drains and scurry out to plant their flags in my bathroom.
And speaking of flags, I think it’s time to spray some Black Flag.