Satan’s Pincushion

Dear Seafarer,

I just killed a cockroach and it took me half-an-hour to remove the grisly carcass off the insecticide pool on the floor, and into the rubbish bin; because I couldn’t bring myself to go near its body. Even if I used a broom, the visual of the broom touching the cockroach made me feel as if I was touching it with my own fingers. Gross.

I ended up devising a method to move the body by using a toilet paper roll, and two large sheets of newspaper. I placed the toilet paper roll vertically on the floor, in such a manner, so that the cockroach sits within the hollow of the roll, with the cylindrical cardboard sides surrounding it. This way, I can no longer see the offending thing, with its 6 hairy legs sticking up like Satan’s pincushion.

I hold the toilet paper, blocking the top with my palm, and gingerly move it, along with the cockroach inside, until both items are atop a newspaper, which I have previously placed on the floor. All this time I was imagining all sorts of horrid scenarios where the body falls apart, and I’m left with cockroach appendages scattered all over the floor. The thought horrified me so much that I felt my hands and thighs quake.

It was a momentous time indeed when I finally watched the toilet roll cross the border between the floor and the newspaper, with the cockroach still in one piece within the roll. I was so worried that the cockroach would get stuck as I attempted to push it onto the newspaper. It would be my worst nightmare. Again I imagined cockroach appendages coming apart and I retched inside.

I carefully fold the sides of the newspaper upwards, almost in a mock gift-wrapping motion, and end up with a funny bundled up package, with the toilet roll still vertically upright, the cockroach still inside. To seal the deal (because of my irrational fear that the cockroach would somehow fall through the insecticide soaked newspaper), I wrapped another newspaper on top of the bundle, scrunching it tightly.

Now I have something that looks sort of like this (except with newspapers):

With a deep breath, I toss the bundle into a plastic bag, tie it up, and bin it.

It was gone. I stared at the spot on the floor where the cockroach once lay, feeling immensely proud of myself. I wiped and cleaned up the insecticide, and checked the time.

It was 5 am in the morning.

What has this taught me?

Fear teaches you to be creative.


My boyfriend/partner/husband requirement must include “Ability to kill spiders/cockroaches/bugs/creepy crawlies/pests for me”

I am so done. Good night (morning).

And oh, Happy SWOTVAC!


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