My husband turned in before me last night; today he had meetings pretty much all day long and they were the kind of meetings that required a weekend’s worth of extra preparation. He was beat. About 45 minutes later, I walked across the house only to see what can quaintly be described as a “Palmetto Bug.” These horrifying things are also known as “giant flying cockroaches.” We’ve had a lot of rain, and when that happens, one of these monsters can find its way into our home. (It happens maybe once a year.)

I did what was unfortunately very natural to me, and called out to my husband. He shot out of bed, opened the bedroom door, and the monster crawled right into our room, past my husband’s feet and under our bed. I exclaimed:

“It’s big, it’s huge, the bug! It’s under our bed, ummmm…” My exhausted and now irritated spouse looked around, couldn’t see it and said:

“Well, I don’t know what I can do. I’m going to bed.”

He closed the door, and went to bed with the monster in our room.

I froze. I needed to brush my teeth and take out my disposable contact lenses that last for two weeks, but I actually considered opening up one of the kids’ spare toothbrushes in their bathroom, throwing out the contacts a week early, and sleeping in the guest room myself. But then, in the morning, my husband would leave early and I’d still need to go into our room and what would I do then?

Minutes went by. My heart was racing and I felt like I had tunnel vision. Fight or flight.

(Yes: this is horribly embarrassing.)

I grabbed my phone (to use as a flash light) and went into our room. I had the light on outside our room too, which shined right into my husband’s face. I crept in and he asked what I was doing. I kept repeating, over and over, “It’s really big. It’s in here. I… I know, I’m insane. I’m sorry. I just can’t….” I don’t really even know what I was saying.

My seriously annoyed husband got out of bed and told me he’d sleep in the guest room, leaving me there, alone with the monster. I crept toward our bathroom. There it was! On the ceiling near the shower. It flew down and into a corner by the toilet. I screamed and ran to the other side of the room.

(Yes, I screamed, at 11:30 at night, because that’s absolutely helpful in a situation like this.)

I called out, woefully, “Honey? It’s in the bathroom….”

And my hero, he returned. He brought with him a roll of paper towel. He went into the bathroom, looked around, couldn’t see it. He reminded me, “I need to get to sleep.” 

I sweetly suggested that he look behind the toilet. (I can’t believe myself, I know, I know…)

It was no where to be found. He almost gave up. But then, there it was, on the ceiling again. He reached for it, it flew at him, and he ushered it into the toilet and flushed.

“There. It went down the drain.”

He got into bed. I flushed the toilet again. And again.

And we went to sleep.

I’m an excellent wife, and utterly useless in certain situations. This guy I’m married to? I just barely deserve him.