Bold Bugs

Okay, so this may sound very similar to a previous post. And it is, except that I added a very new items at the end. It is rather gross to it seems inappropriate to say "enjoy". So here it is:

It is hard not to take some things personally. Some drivers, for instance, interpret every forgotten turn signal, tailgater or slowpoke in the fast lane as a personal affront directed specifically at them. They take umbrage at these petty annoyances despite the fact that they are hurtling down a crowded interstate anonymously encased within a ton of steel. In fact, it is not personal, there are simply a lot of lousy, distracted drivers on the road. Whereas, the legitimacy of my complaint is that the affront did occur in my personal space.

Like many moldering, tropical locales, Hong Kong has a rich and plentiful population of creepy, eeewww-inspiring creatures; flying roaches, furry caterpillars, gargantuan spiders.  Such an emissary from the bug world confronted me one evening after I put my little gremlins to bed.  

Most evenings, for two glorious hours, I relax with a glass of red wine and mindless television.  That night is was to be Grey's Anatomy paired with an Australian Shiraz-Cabernet.  I had set the glass down on the coffee table and crossed the room to the DVD player to insert the intended disc.  

While humans are not known for the best eyesight in the animal kingdom, our eyes are good at detecting movement.  And at the moment my eyes were riveted by the movement on my wine glass.  Since there are no witnesses, I can only surmise that the look on my face combined revulsion with indignation as I watched a roach mosey up the stem of my wine glass.  
In a disturbing reversal of roles, I scurried toward the kitchen at steroid-worthy speed. Concerned the perp would escape in my absence I moved quickly; donning Playtex gloves and grabbing an industrial-sized wad of paper towels; the housewife’s equivalent of a hazmat suit. Shifting gears, I seamlessly switched to stealth mode as I crept back into the living room; six seasons of 24 were not lost on me. Evidently, I did not inspire any fear in the multi-legged interloper because rather than making a run for it, he had casually sauntered farther up the wine stem--savoring the bouquet perhaps.  

Grabbing a roach off a wine-stem without breaking the glass or spilling the wine, given my heightened state of agitation, was going to be a difficult maneuver.  I determined it needed to be a two-handed operation with simultaneous execution.   Despite my hasty planning and the intense pressure, the execution was flawless.  One roach squished beyond recognition.  

However, the incident cast an edge over the evening; relaxation was replaced with vigilance. Maybe oenophile roaches are a rare breed; I tried to tell myself.  But would my English muffin be safe in the morning?  

While bugs coming in contact or being involved in any way with food or beverage consumption is distasteful, the mouth is not the only delicate region of human anatomy. I cannot be the only person who has tried to open something with my teeth; can I? But few people try to open a bottle DOWN THERE.

Like many people, my first path in the morning is trod to the bathroom. And like many others, my eyes are not completely focused at that time. On this morning I turned to flush the toilet in time to see an unwelcome visitor perched on the inside of the bowl; a large, voracious mosquito. I live on the fifteenth floor of a high rise apartment block, how did that thing get in my toilet? Unable to stop the momentum of my finger plunging the flush lever, I simultaneously leapt up and back as the startled blood-sucker flew up into my face. I had the presence of mind to swing shut the bathroom door so it was just he and I; mano y mano.

If the shock of discovering a mosquito in such close proximity to my good girl was not enough, now I had the five minute romp around the bathroom trying to kill the little bastard. It is like they fly with a faulty Romulan cloaking device; there he is...no, now he disappeared...wait, here he is again on the other side of the room...how did he get over there...good lord, are there more than one...die, Die, DIEEEEE. Definitely awake now.

Most bugs that make an appearance at my home do so in my bathroom. Usually I find them on the floor and even though it is gross and unsettling, they are easy to dispense with a quick squish from my flip-flop; ditto walls, however, ceilings are when things get dicey. But on my bath towel? Is nothing sacred? This time the assault was a botched operation and the squirmy, sinewy creature plummeted to the bathtub. Retrieving the handheld shower head I blasted him back to whatever hell he ascended from. Perhaps he would live to tell the tale of the battle he had fought and lost, to dissuade others from venturing up the pipes. Better yet, his corpse would tell the tale for him.

It is hard not to take these bold bug attacks personally, when the bugs themselves have attempted the most intimate of invasion routes. That, and the fact that I am the only member of my household being targeted.