ShitFuckCockroaches!

As I was just about to write a long apology to my mother for using her writing on my blog without her permission, a giant cockroach crawled up next to my chair. I screamed like a school girl, and ran toward Melissa. "AAAAAHHHH! COCKROACH COCKROACH COCKROACH!!!" It was a sorry sight, and one I wish would never be spoken of again.

It gets worse. Instead of killing it myself like a real man, I walk up to one of the cocktail waiters behind me.

"Uhmm. Excuse me. There's this cockroach next to my table and..."

One of the men looks up, exhausted (it's 11pm here).

"Okay," he says to me, and looks back down at his paper.

I walk back to my table. I stare at the cockroach and it stares back at me. It's still, the way creepy insects always are before they're about to move and jump and frighten us poor poor humans.

I pick up my laptop and move tables. Smash a bug? Solve the problem? No thanks I'd rather just avoid the problem and wait until another cockroach disturbs my peace.

A man dressed in all black arrives, and starts staring at the chair I was sitting in.

"Where is it?"

"There! There! You see! It's moving now!"

The man takes off his shoe and starts beating the cockroach. Fwoop! Fwoop! Shoop! goes his shoe (or whatever the sound is that shoes make when they miss, and then hit cockroaches).

I feel completely emasculated.

"Good job!" I say, but I desperately want to say Mazal Tov or something equally out of place.

The man sort of chuckles to himself, and smiles at me.

I'm now sitting at a new table, checking the contours of the seat, looking for movement in any form, looking for small shadows, checking my neck and then realizing I actually want to scratch my hair...then scratching my hair...then checking the seat again.

I suppose I'll continue this stupid dance until another cockroach arrives, then freak a shit all over again.