How to defeat a cockroach.

You'd think after having given birth to a child, nothing could scare me anymore.

But you'd be wrong.

I'm still terrified of bugs -- specifically COCKROACHES.

Now, I knew they were rampant in Arizona during the monsoon months. I've known that since I was little, when they'd frequently appear in our house in random places. But when I was little, all I had to do was shriek as loudly as I could, and Sir Dad would come to my rescue, wielding a flyswatter.

Such is not the case anymore, now that I'm an adult and live on my own. But that fact didn't stop me from trying to summon parental aid.

Disgusting vermin!

Upon seeing the foul creature, writing on its back in my bathroom, I immediately picked up the phone and called -- my mother.

"Mom!"

"What?"

"There's a COCKROACH in my bathroom!!!"

She said to murder it with hairspray; I said I was too scared. I asked if Dad could come get it for me; she laughed (maybe she thought I was kidding?). She suggested a vacuum; I thought that might be safe enough.

I attached the hose, plugged it in, turned it on ...

Couldn't do it. Blasted thing had antennae as long as shoestrings. I wasn't going near it, and I did NOT want to hear the loud THWUMP! it would certainly make as it was sucked into oblivion.

I then called the apartment manager's office.

"Hi. This might sound really dumb, but ... I just found a cockroach in my apartment, and --"

"What's your unit number?"

"Um ... 2076. But I was wondering if someone could come take care of it for me."

"We'll have someone come spray on Friday."

"But WAIT!! Can someone come GET it for me?"

(I know what you're thinking -- She's ballsy!)

"No, we don't do that. Just pick it up with some toilet paper, put it in the toilet, and flush it away."

"Oh ... Ok...."

(Yeah, right.)

Drat.

What to do? I needed a shower -- desperately. I could not simply avoid the bathroom for the rest of the day; it housed my precious make-up and hair products. Not to mention, toothbrush, deodorant, and oh, soap. I certainly wasn't going to be able to round up those items in one fell swoop. I had to remove the roach first. But how?

What to do, what to do ...

Then, I spotted our metal IKEA wastebasket. It was tall and heavy. A perfect mode of entrapment. It could work ... but ...

"Hey, Bubby!"

Of course, she eagerly came running.

I placed the wastebasket, upside-down, in her chubby hands. Then, I pointed towards the bug's location.

"See the bug, Bubby?"

"Buuuuuggg," she replied, pointing and nodding her head.

"K. Now, go put the BASKET on top of the BUG." I said emphatically.

She toddled over to the bug hastily, wastebasket in her hands, blissfully unaware of the vile filth that lay before her.

I couldn't take it. "NO NO NO!!! COME BACK!!!" I shouted.

She toddled back to me, a look of slight terror in her eyes. I couldn't bear to allow my daughter near such nastiness. I knew she'd probably try to pick it up or even eat it once she got near enough. This plan wasn't going to work.

Nay, this was a task for me to complete. I was supposed to be the brave one. Me, SuperMom. I could do it. I HAD to do it. Dill wouldn't be home for several hours, my mom wasn't going to do it, and my apartment manager certainly wasn't going to do it. It was all up to me.

(I did consider knocking on my neighbor's door at this point, but resisted.)

My options were limited. The wastebasket was still the best idea I could muster (meaning, the one that would allow me to stay as far away from the beast as possible), and I needed a shower. I had to be brave. I knew once that can was on top of that bug, I would feel comfortable enough to hastily retrieve the necessary objects from the bathroom so I could use Bubby's bathroom to get ready.

I scooted cautiously towards the roach, wastebasket in trembling hands. The bug gave a sudden, wild jerk; I screamed and ran. This would be harder than I thought.

But it had to be done.

I removed my glasses (so I couldn't see it's disgusting antennae and legs wiggling around), marched resolutely toward the spot, and raised the can over my head with a loud battle cry.

And with that, I trapped the unwelcome visitor underneath a steel, cylindrical cage.

Victory.

(Mind you, he was still on his back, probably not going anywhere.)

I cheered. Bubby clapped. We had won!

And that, my friends, is how you defeat a cockroach.

Let's just hope if I ever come across another, he'll be on his back, too.