Opening Day

Today was opening day for the spring centipede season. I have trouble accurately conveying how much I despise these things but let me try: I hate centipedes with the burning passions reserved only for the IRS, people who lie and throwing up. And that's just a start.

This morning Ali was in the shower and I headed upstairs to make the bed and straighten up the bedroom. As I got to the top of the stairs I glanced up to see a 2" centipede on the ceiling next to the light fixture. That may not sound that bad to you, so let me put it in perspective.

If you are vertically challenged you may not have noticed that our upstairs ceilings are only 7' high. I am 5'8" high. That leaves only 16" between me and that nasty, nasty THING. The fear that these things releases in my brain renders me unable to think clearly. The rush of adrenaline that courses through my body that is supposed to trigger the "fight or flight" response renders me nearly catatonic.

I was paralyzed with loathing and revulsion. And Ali couldn't hear me yelling. She was in the shower. I was in the bedroom and there was no f*ing way I was going out into the hall.

So, I stood in the bedroom shouting, "ALI. . .ALI. . ." knowing she would have to turn off the water sometime. Ideally, before my heart exploded from adrenaline overload.

Finally she turned off the water.

"What?" she yelled.

"You must COME. HERE. It's an E.M.E.R.G.E.N.C.Y." I waited until I could hear footsteps at the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm stuck in the bedroom. There's a 2" centipede on the ceiling in the hall. Go out in the garage. There's some bug spray on the shelf."

A moment later an arm appeared around the bedroom doorway and a can of spider spray was chucked towards my feet.

It took everything I had to aim that can towards the ceiling and spray. You know what happened next. That f*ing thing fell off the ceiling and started running across the floor. In slow motion I was forced to step on it, all while screaming from pure terror. It was not a cutesy, girly scream either.

"What the hell was that noise?? Was it coming out of YOU?" Ali asked when she came into the bedroom. "Half of Hurd Avenue is on the phone to 911 right now because is sounds like someone is getting stabbed to death in our house!!!"

I can only describe it this way – I screamed like Danny Gokey trying to sing the final note of "Dream On." Blogs described this note as "an elongated, inhuman screech...like watching a horror movie." Yeah. It was something like that.

I told you I hated centipedes.

It looked like this. Only bigger. And, I hate them SO MUCH that I almost can't even look at this picture without freaking out. . .or screaming agin. My throat still hurts from the last one, three hours ago.