"Just because I own a gun doesn't mean I can't be afraid of roaches!"
Bang, bang, bang. Squish.
The end.
Oh, you wanted the rest of the story? I suppose I'll oblige.
The other night, I walked into the laundry room to get some clothes out of the dryer, and when I turned on the light, there was a HUGE cockroach just hanging out in the middle of the floor. I was under the impression that most roaches will run away when the light gets turned on, so, with that impression in mind, I assumed he was dead. I continued toward the dryer and THEN IT MOVED. And, naturally, I screamed bloody murder.
I picked up my shoe, which I conveniently left in the laundry room and started swatting at this roach like a crazy person (I mean, I suppose I am a little on the crazy side). BUT IT WOULDN'T DIE.
AND IT STARTED FLYING.
TOWARDS ME.
So, of course, I ran away screaming to Sara because I, for some strange reason, assumed that she'd come and save the day and get rid of this terrifying bug. I convinced her to come to the laundry room where we were both standing in the doorway yelling at one another, trying to decide who was going to kill this thing that I don't understand why they were created. Nobody likes them; at least, nobody who is sane. Hahaha. Anyway! As we're standing there yelling back and forth, the stupid thing starts flying again, and we, being the mature college seniors that we are, run away screaming like Freddy Krueger was standing at the window.
I attempted to convince Sara that I'd already tried twice to kill this roach and that it is now officially her turn. She didn't go for it. Upon me telling...well, it was more along the lines of yelling at her that it was only fair (See? We totally act our age all the time), she retorted that she was not from the country, and I suppose by her logic, that made her exempt from killing a bug. Lies.
I did end up manning up and beating that roach into smithereens without anymore attempts by said roach to attack me, though. Yay for happy endings.
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