A Waterbug Story. (not for the squeamish of heart.)

It's true. Everything in Texas is bigger. But that isn't always a good thing. Our bugs are bigger, too. We are in a severe drought and heat wave right now so that means all the little critters are looking for a cool spot and moisture which sometimes means they try to make themselves at home in our houses. Now, I'm not a typical girl. I actually don't mind sharing my home with some of them. Jumping spiders are allowed to stay inside as well as the little baby geckos. They can stay because they eat the other bugs that aren't welcome. But with this heat there are no jumping spiders or baby geckos in the house. I'm not certain, but I think it might be because they are being eaten by bigger things that I haven't seen yet which have sought and found the comfort of our A.C. I don't want to think about that right now.

One bug that is absolutely not welcome in this house is the waterbug. Oh sure, it sounds harmless enough. I don't know why we call them that, but I think it is because no one is immune to one of these bugs occasionally infiltrating her home and highfalutin society folk don't want to admit to what it really is so they started calling it a waterbug. It's one thing to scream out, "There's a waterbug in the kitchen! Somebody take care of it!" but quite another to call it what it is by screaming, "There's a cockroach the size of my fist staring at me and daring me to walk near it in the kitchen! Sweet Mercy save us all!" We call them waterbugs, but make no mistake we know they are mutant giant cockroaches that will move items around on the counter if those items are blocking the way to a morsel of food. They are so big and nasty that we once had a dog who would snap at yellowjackets that dared to fly too close to him, had attacked a rattle snake to keep it from biting me, and once chased down a butting billy goat to keep it from ramming my rump, but when he saw a waterbug he would growl at it to alert us to its presence and then go cower until one of us was brave enough to chase it down and kill it. And killing those things is no easy task. You have to be fast. If you stand your ground long enough for them to know they have become a target they scurry away faster than anyone would think possible. Then if luck is on your side and one gets cornered there is that awful moment of the loud pop and splat as their guts are spewed everywhere. Thankfully, I had the good fortune of being told about the waterbug killing attributes of orange oil. A little squirt of that will doom any bug and the aroma it leaves behind is quite lovely. But even so, orange oil isn't always at the ready when we encounter a rouge waterbug.

Several nights ago was one of those times. I turned on the light in our bathroom and on the kitchen sink I saw a waterbug staring straight at me. I froze and in the distant corners of my mind I could hear "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" being played by a full orchestra. I was in no mood for the pop and splat so I decided to slowly back away to make it think I had been scared away and then grab for the bottle of orange oil when it let its guard down. He called my bluff and rose from the sink straight at my head. Did I mention that these bad mama jamas can fly? I think he thought I would then commence screaming that there was a waterbug as I ran out of his newly claimed territory. Little did he know that we have only one bathroom and I intended to use it. I grabbed for the first thing within reach and found myself swatting at him with a tube of toothpaste. I nailed him and he retreated to the top of the mirror. I was eerily calm and in a slow and steady voice said, "Come on you vile roach. You think you can take me out? Bring it."

He did.

He stared at me, flicked his long snaky antennae and launched another attack aimed at my face. I ducked and grabbed Jason's razor to throw at it as it came back towards me. I dodged to the side and grabbed my bottle of contact solution and used it like a bat only to miss and let the bottle slip form my hand. I stepped back and snatched up the next thing within reach, realized it was my hairbrush which I didn't want to defile, placed it back in its proper spot and then wrapped my hand around Jason's toothbrush instead. I chucked it through the air blindly at the sound of wings and it landed on the floor beside the toilet. (I should probably buy Jason a new toothbrush.) Next I used a shampoo bottle, a roll of toilet paper, facial cleanser, tweezers and a free sample bottle of wrinkle cream in my attempt to knock the stark raving mad flying cockroach out of the air. Each item crashed against the wall and clanked its way to the floor. A bottle of peroxide was catapulted over my shoulder and I ducked low and covered my head like I've seen soldiers do in war movies after launching a grenade. I heard a hollow and loud thud as it crashed into the cast iron tub knocking down and scattering bathtub toys on its descent. But I still heard the buzzing of wings and even felt the detestable thing touch me as I stood back up. I was calm the entire time and kept telling it in a low confident voice that it was going to die and how much I hated it. He answered my challenge by making eye contact with me not only when it would land briefly to regroup, but as it sailed through the air as well. Finally I grabbed a towel and with a ninja stealth windmill type motion I knocked that sucker out of the air and onto the floor. In one swift motion I used my hand to keep the picture that I also hit with the towel from falling and moved my foot, clad only in a flip flop on top of the roach. Simultaneously I gently straightened out the picture and stomped the cockroach as hard as I could. The pop that I had at first wanted to avoid was the sweetest sound I could imagine. I was elated even after I lifted up my foot and saw the mess. I took two Clorox wipes. One for my shoe and one for the floor and cleaned up around the monster that was still twitching and staring at me. I put everything back in its proper place beginning with rinsing off Jason's toothbrush with the peroxide. Then with smug satisfaction I used my innocent feminine beseeching voice to call out, "Honey, there's a dead waterbug in the bathroom." I stood by as Jason came in, looked around the bathroom, saw it twitching, finished the job of killing it, picked it up with a tissue and flushed it down the toilet.

I'm sure he had heard all the commotion I made in the bathroom. The clanking, the conversation I was having with the doomed roach and the crashes as my missiles were launched into the walls. But he just told me, "No problem, Babe," as I thanked him for taking care of it for me. I don't know for sure, but I think he learned long ago that I'm not quite a normal girl and sometimes it's best not to ask. But I do know for sure that if any other rogue roaches were in the shadows watching the battle they will think twice before trying to stake a claim to my bathroom. I'm probably already known as the waterbug slayer among guilds of those giant mutant cockroaches. And that makes me happy.