To Kill A Mockingbird...or a disgusting multi-legged insect

Last night around midnight, I was in my bedroom getting ready to go to sleep, when I saw quite possibly the LAST THING ANY WIMPY FEMALE EVER WANTS TO SEE IN LIFE.

I saw...THIS MOTHERF'ER:


FAINT. VOMIT. DIE.

How gross is that!?! It was about the size of my pinky, and had no fewer than 18,000 legs. WHO NEEDS THAT MANY LEGS?

As you may or may not be able to tell, it was on the wall pretty close to the ceiling. It was directly above my bed, which, considering that I sleep in the guest room and not my actual bedroom, should not have been a problem. I could have gone to sleep in the other room and assumed this creature would be gone by morning. But that's not my style.

I also could have stood on the bed, smashed that bitch with a shoe, and been done with it. But that's not my style either. Mostly because I am scared of death of bugs and I knew that if I swung with a shoe and missed, that somehow, that thing could land ON ME which would have resulted in me screaming and crying and probably falling off the bed and breaking a bone or 12. So direct hand-to-hand combat with the bug was out.

Naturally, I did what any self-respecting 25 year old woman would do. I found an aerosol hairspray can and sprayed that mofo. This resulted only in making the bug move over a few inches. I tried again. Same result. I decided that I needed backup. I ran to the bathroom for ideas, where I saw yet another can of hairspray (I don't even use hairspray, lord knows where these things come from). I tried that one, but the blast wasn't even strong enough to reach the bug.

I had to resort to the yet uncreated plan B. I looked around my room and found the perfect weapon: a volleyball. Not just any volleyball, but a volleyball I got at the end of my senior year of high school as a gift from my team. The whole team had signed volleyballs for the seniors and we were given them at our end of season dinner. This would do (sorry, ex-teammates).

I contemplated serving the volleyball into the bug, because my overhand serve is pretty strong and definitely has bug-crushing power. Yet I lack the ability to place the ball where I want it, so I assumed it would end badly. And since my mother was sleeping in the next room, I figured I only had one shot. Obviously, I decided that taking a video of me mercilessly crushing the bug would be a good idea.

The video clearly didn't work out so well, and neither did my brilliant plan. I figured I would try again. And obviously, tape that attempt as well.

Alright, so clearly holding the camera in one hand and chucking a volleyball with the other wasn't working out for me. So I put the camera down and tried a third time (having complete disregard for my sleeping mother, who thankfully didn't seem to wake up to this racket anyway). And somehow, despite the fact that the volleyball is large and the bug not quite as large, it just wasn't working.

The bus still sat there, taunting me, threatening to haunt me in my dreams with its creepy legs.

So what do we do when plan A fails and plan B fails as well? We come back to plan A, obviously.

So I sprayed the bug with hairspray yet again. Only this time, the bug just didn't move over a few inches, it fell off the wall. At which point I ran across the room screaming, threw open the door and hid in the bathroom. I realized at that point that I didn't see where the thing actually went, and I started convulsing, trying desperately to shake it off my pajamas (where it was clearly not). When I finally confirmed that the bug was not on or near me, I debated how best to get back into my room. My bare feet were clearly not going to cut it, so I ran into my brother's room and slipped into a pair of sneakers from his closet. I tiptoed into my bedroom, searching the carpet for the bug. I didn't find it.

I'm pretty sure I know where the bug is now. If you look at the videos you'll see that it was on the wall above some curtains that go horizontally across the top of my window. I would be willing to bet that the bug fell off the fall and is now nesting, hopefully dead, amongst the fabric.

But you know what? I am NOT about to go check.

There are many qualities I would like to have in a future husband: someone who's rich, or who cooks, or who's from New York would all be nice. But the one thing I absolutely cannot concede on is that I MUST marry someone who is willing to kill bugs for me. Otherwise? Game over.