On Saturday, I dusted, swept, ironed, bleached, and washed. At the end of the day, I neatly tied the trash bag and grabbed the basket of recyclables to dispose in the trash room of our old brownstone building. I trotted down the hallway, made a sharp right, walked up half of flight of stairs, and crossed the threshold into the adjoining brownstone when I saw it. A cockroach. A true New York City cockroach. A huge, disgusting, stomach wrenching, skin crawling, shiny, black cockroach that measured approximately two inches long. I measured it. We traveled from Kentucky to live in the Upper West Side, but that thing journeyed from the depths of the Amazon.
The cockroach lay on its back. Its eight legs feebly pumped with little life. I froze. My eyes darted from side to side. Would another resident jump out and save me? Yeah, right. This is New York City. I had to fend for myself. The trash bag dangled from my left pinky and the recycling basket balanced on my right forearm. I did a few leg kicks to warm up my muscles then hiked my right leg over the cockroach. I wrapped my arm around the banister of a nearby stairwell and nervously teetered in a deep split. My old gymnastics teacher would have been proud.
I rocked my hips back and forth until I gained enough momentum to thrust myself forward and over the cockroach. I pumped my fist in the air in triumph, looked around. Thank goodness no one witnessed that awkward maneuver. I dumped the trash, took a running leap back over the cockroach, and forced my husband to pause a movie on TV so he could see the unwelcome dweller. Of course, Ben gave every excuse not to see the bug since he gets more scared than me. He usually screams louder too, at a higher pitch.
Ben and I rounded the stairwell and bumped into a girl who lives on the fourth floor. She stood, transfixed by the cockroach. She looked up, pointed to Ben, and said what any girl would in the same situation. “You’re the guy. You kill it.”
If you know Ben, you’re already laughing. Hard. He tore his gaze away from the bug with a startled expression on his face. “Me?” he asked. “Um, well, I, um, can’t… I’ve got new shoes on!” The girl looked confused. I laughed. Oh, Ben. Even in the presence of two females, he couldn’t muster the strength or nerve to squish a bug.
At that moment, a man walked down the stairs and almost stepped on the cockroach, still lying in wait to see his fate. I jumped, “Watch out. There’s a huge cockroach.” He turned around, cocked his head, looked down, raised his leg, and smashed the lying bug with gumption. “Oui,” he said, then continued walking. “Oui,” we all said in unison, in awe.
The cockroach lay on its back. Its eight legs feebly pumped with little life. I froze. My eyes darted from side to side. Would another resident jump out and save me? Yeah, right. This is New York City. I had to fend for myself. The trash bag dangled from my left pinky and the recycling basket balanced on my right forearm. I did a few leg kicks to warm up my muscles then hiked my right leg over the cockroach. I wrapped my arm around the banister of a nearby stairwell and nervously teetered in a deep split. My old gymnastics teacher would have been proud.
I rocked my hips back and forth until I gained enough momentum to thrust myself forward and over the cockroach. I pumped my fist in the air in triumph, looked around. Thank goodness no one witnessed that awkward maneuver. I dumped the trash, took a running leap back over the cockroach, and forced my husband to pause a movie on TV so he could see the unwelcome dweller. Of course, Ben gave every excuse not to see the bug since he gets more scared than me. He usually screams louder too, at a higher pitch.
Ben and I rounded the stairwell and bumped into a girl who lives on the fourth floor. She stood, transfixed by the cockroach. She looked up, pointed to Ben, and said what any girl would in the same situation. “You’re the guy. You kill it.”
If you know Ben, you’re already laughing. Hard. He tore his gaze away from the bug with a startled expression on his face. “Me?” he asked. “Um, well, I, um, can’t… I’ve got new shoes on!” The girl looked confused. I laughed. Oh, Ben. Even in the presence of two females, he couldn’t muster the strength or nerve to squish a bug.
At that moment, a man walked down the stairs and almost stepped on the cockroach, still lying in wait to see his fate. I jumped, “Watch out. There’s a huge cockroach.” He turned around, cocked his head, looked down, raised his leg, and smashed the lying bug with gumption. “Oui,” he said, then continued walking. “Oui,” we all said in unison, in awe.
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