*at the time there was not much humor involved.
Picture it: A quiet Tuesday evening staying at Kerilyn's house while she's on vacation. I've just polished off an evening snack (the first carton ice cream I've eaten in forever), and I've decided to do something constructive, like wash laundry. So I gather up all the clothes I'd been piling in a corner of the bathroom, for want of a laundry basket, and head for the washer (which is just adjacent to the kitchen). I'm nervous.
Flashback: about 10 minutes or so earlier I'd spotted a roach–no one should question Keri's house hygiene, its swampland in Florida, and we had a hurricane like storm the night before that would make El Nino blush. The roach stood there, mocking me. Taunting me. I grabbed a cup and slowly approached it [again, please note the courage] but it slyly ran into the dark crevice beside the oven. Right beside the Laundry room. One must keep in mind for the rest of the story that I detest roaches. I fear them. They terrorize me. I have and would rather let a boa constrictor dance around my neck, then a roach get near my shoe. Its just that simple, I fear them. It stems back to my childhood when one jumped on my back, and refused to be dislodged, no matter how many laps around the house I did. It was a bad day.
Back to the Present. I decide to defy my fear and start a load of laundry with the full knowledge that the chances of the roach being in the same room with me are about 70%. I put the load in, and there out of the corner of my eye I spot it. It runs in the crack between the dryer and the wall where the Ironing board is stowed. I decide to go look for some raid. Keri either has a soft spot for insects, or is really good at hiding chemicals for when the toddlers (and occasional house-sitter) drop by. The raid is nowhere to be found. So I see the bottle of oust in the cupboard above the dryer. I begin to Oust the area into a dense fog, akin to your average New England port at dawn.
Eventually the roach ends up in a basket of crisp, clean, folded laundry Keri had left on the dryer. "Great", I think to myself. I try to fog it out with the oust, but to no avail. At last an idea strikes. Making for certain that the roach is still on the basket, with one fell swoop I grab the basket and set it outside on the air conditioner hub.
Now I can't just leave Keri's clean laundry outside to face what could become another storm gale, so I go back into the kitchen, grab a pair of tongs, find a broom, and with oust in hand head back to the battle.
Not knowing for sure if the roach has rooted deeper in the pile of clothes, I begin to deftly pick up each article of clothing (be it blouse, sundress, skirt, or shorts) with my pair of tongs and shake it with a vigorous movement until a point at which I'm certain the average roach would have lost hold. All the while bathing the clean clothes in a thick mist of oust. After each article meets my approval, I deposit it back in the house, and head out to the thick of the fight. I'm only hoping that the neighbors on campus are in bed by now, and aren't watching the man outside in the yard wildly flailing women's clothing held from the end of a pair of tongs. Finally after what seemed to be the eternal pile of clothing came to its end I grabbed the basket, gave it a few kicks with my foot, sprayed the last of the oust on it, and took it back inside. The roach had left. I had won. With a great sense of accomplishment I write these words.
I conquered the roach.
