I woke up this morning at 3:48. As I turned my head to look at the clock, I saw a cockroach scurry out of my hair.
I KNOW. Is horrible.
Backlit by the hall light, he looked something like this, as he stared into my sleep-filled eyes:
I was pretty out of it, so instead of screaming, like a normal girl, I flicked the critter out into the darkness.
Then I realized: I just had a cockroach in my hair, and I flicked him, and now he's on the loose somewhere in my room! AHHHH!
Jake noticed all my flailing about, and asked what was up.
I explained. He thought I was having a nightmare about roaches. (Although, he didn't actually say that, and he might deny it now.)
I flipped on the lights to look for the nasty scavenger, who was probably rolling around in the neighbor's dog's fesces just before he climbed into my clean white sheets.
I couldn't find him.
I got back in bed. After I shook out all the bedclothes.
My nerves were taut.
I heard a small noise.
Jake! I squealed. Did you hear that?
What? He sounded like he was trying to be patient with a crazy person.
I can HEAR the ROACH! I hissed, like I was afraid the roach would hear me talking about him.
I flipped the lights back on, and started checking under the furniture.
Why don't you sleep somewhere else? Jake cooed. Somewhere the bugs aren't, you know, so NOISY?
I ignored his patronizing tone. There! There he is! I exalted.
And he was. Right there. Just behind my headboard. And Jake squished the little fella's shiny red exoskeleton with the kitchen broom. His juicy insides squirted onto the wall.
I felt better after that, but still, I couldn't sleep, so I stayed up reading for two hours, until it was light enough to read without the flashlight. And during that time, I asked myself a hard question:
Why did I wake up when the roach climbed in my hair?
See, I am a heavy sleeper. A cockroach in my hair would not normally wake me.
So the roach? He must have been in my ear. Or on my face.
I totally had a roach on my face.
When I told my daughter, Jane, about the bug, she said: Mama! Go wash your face!
Jake, you are 100% fired as my exterminator.