Fleeting Waterworks Revisited

Beauty relief (as opposed to comic relief)

If you have not had the opportunity to read Fleeting Waterworks, you should do that right now. It will be necessary in understanding Fleeting Waterworks Revisited. Go ahead. I'll wait.

La dee da da. La dee da. La dee da  ^da^  da dee da da da.

Are you finished already? Ok, let's go.

As you can see, I have weak, um, er, pipes. Oh, the trouble this causes. Have you ever been talking to someone and they suddenly cut the conversation and disappear? You thought you had said something to offend, didn't you? Well, dear Reader, I can assure that the most likely cause of the sudden departure was a weak floor.

I have the very bad habit of waiting until it is almost too late before I get up to do anything about the overflow. I like to get things done in as timely manner as possible. When I stand up to use the facilities, I also like to have a plan of further action that makes it worth getting up from my comfortable chair.

The other morning, I was in my very comfortable chair drinking my morning coffee. I waited until I had to get up to get ready for work before I went to relieve myself. It would have been no problem, I raised myself from my chair hundreds of times in this condition, I promise you. All that it requires is for my legs to be tightly squeezed together. Well, there is another time-saver - I am exercising, as well.

Coffee in hand, I leaned forward to stand up, legs already squeezed tight. I looked down at some movement at the front of the chair. There, almost to the top of the seat cushion was a huge cockroach, a palmetto bug, a wood roach! And it was climbing higher, aimed straight for my lap. I gave out a small yelp and brushed at the thing. It kept climbing and was now about to touch my leg. At this point, I screamed as loud as I could and jumped up and away from the thing that was about to eat me alive! The contents of a half cup of coffee landed on the end table which was full of electronic gadgets and an outlet for charging batteries.

As I swung around to see where the intruder went my body betrayed me. The pipes burst as I was rising, so the seat of the chair was wet, water continued to pool around my feet. I was already late for work and now I had to take another shower? Oh, no, this guy was NOT going to get away with this. I grabbed a flip-flop from my foot and beat the snot out of the invader. I yelled as loud as I could, scaring it (roaches can hear, can't they). I wanted to scare it as much as I was frightened. I imagined the fear looming in the non-brain while it was being smashed to smithereens.

Spent, I cleaned the chair, the floor and myself. When finished, the little bugger was still moving. Well, what to do. I normally don't kill these things, much less pick one up! I found the perfect solution. I had to put a fan in place to dry the chair, so why not put it on top the interloper. I knew Old Man wouldn't mind getting rid of it after a full day of data input. He needed the exercise. In fact, I was quite certain he would be proud that I killed such a loathsome creature. I normally have to enlist his assistance when I find on of these interlopers in our home. I shake uncontrollably when I see one.

You won't believe this, dear Reader, but this wasn't the only incident that involved palmetto bugs and broken water pipes. With recent heavy rains, cockroaches think they should be able to share the same dry space as we humans . . . hmmmm.

Again, I waited until bedtime to get up to empty my bladder. You would think I would learn. But, no problem yet. I enter the bathroom, switch on the light, and there, on the far
wall, a huge cockroach, a palmetto bug, a wood roach! Grown Son was at home visiting, so I asked him to get the fly swatter and kill this thing. He ducks into the small room and calls out that he can't find it. "It's ok, Mom. It's gone, he won't bother you." Grown Son had been away from home for a while and had forgotten his mother's wood roach phobia. He forgot the screaming tirades, the running out of the house, and, yes, sending an 8 year old in to kill a creature his mother should have been able to take care of.

Doing the wee-wee dance now, I said, "Go get your father."

"But, Mom . . ."

"Old Man! I need you to guard the toilet!" (Ours is a small home.)

"What's the matter?"

The wee-wee dance was more pronounced, I was desperate.

"Just go in the bathroom and stand between the far wall and the commode."

Me - when I see a roach.

"Why?"

 "A cockroach." This from Grown Son as his eyes rolled. If I wasn't so busy     with the wee-wee dance, I would have "cockroached" him. Rolling his eyes. I pray he never has an irrational fear. Yes, dear Reader, I know this fear is irrational, but it makes it no less real.

Compassionate Old Man entered the room. I followed, thinking he would stand guard. Instead, he was searching for the most recent intruder. He was leaning down, looking behind the water heater, so when it happened, he was completely unaware. As soon as I entered, the wood roach flew above Old Man's head, straight for me. Do you remember watching TV shows where a gun is shot directly at the camera so it appears the viewer is about to be shot? That's what this looked like. Except the bullet was huge and black and heading straight for my face! I screamed, jumped backwards and slammed the door shut. I stood to one side, waiting to hear if the bullet changed course and killed Old Man. I did not have his back that night.

After some shuffling and a couple of what sounded like hits on a wall with a shoe, Old Man opened the door, dead bug in hand, saying, "It's ok now. You can use the bathroom."

"Thank you, Old Man. You are my hero!" I turned to go.

"Where are you going? I just engaged in a major battle for you."

"Yes, you did. Thank you. But, it's no longer needed," I replied as I went to get the mop and pail.