Allow me to set the stage for you. It was close to ten o’clock at night, which just so happens to be the hour that I develop an extreme case of the nursing munchies. I entered my kitchen with the intent of slicing up a piece of my so-so pumpkin bread. (Word to the wise: Eva Longoria has no clue about how to make pumpkin bread, and I know this after only having made it one time prior.) I walked into my kitchen, which still had dishes strewn about from dinner because apparently my idea of leaving them to their own devices to clean themselves was somewhat of a pipe dream. As, I eyed my pumpkin bread, something popped out of the not-so-dark darkness. It was LA CUCARACHA!
If you are not familiar with LA CUCARACHA then allow me to educate you. CUCARACHA is the Spanish word for cockroach. And if you are unfamiliar with cockroaches then consider yourself lucky. Where I live, cucarachas are like Kardashians; they’re everywhere! And they are also HUGE, and when I say HUGE, I mean H-U-G-E.
I don’t know if it was karma or a sign from above that I should not be eating at ten o’clock at night like a pot head with a severe case of the munchies. For the record, I have never smoked pot; however, I watched Scooby Doo growing up so I consider myself somewhat well versed in the munchies. In any event, la cucaracha was crawling on MY FREAKING PUMPKIN BREAD. Now mind you, my bread was wrapped in foil; however, I wasn’t sure if I was going to trust Reynolds Wrap or my folding abilities to keep out the ick that covered a creature’s body that entered my house through a drain.
I decided I would take one for the team and kill la cucaracha as it sat like a greedy little bastard on my pumpkin bread. I lunged after it with my bug killing weapon of choice; the wet dish towel. I twirled it, gave it a practice snap and lashed out at la cucaracha with what I thought was cat-like precision. Well, three things happened. I missed. It jumped and scurried. And I screamed like a teen girl at a Justin Bieber concert.
I had angered the little bugger and it began to scurry with an intense fury. I attempted another dish towel lashing, but my attempt was futile. They say that in the event of a nuclear meltdown only two things will survive: Cher and cockroaches. I was certain that this little gem had clearly prepared itself for the apocalypse. So, I did what any person would do when in distress. I screamed for help. And these were real screams, as I had a sleeping baby and didn’t care if he was awakened by my desperate cries.
My husband soon came to the kitchen wanting to know what in the hell was the matter. I pointed at La Cucaracha, but this little bugger not only wanted to steal my pumpkin bread and scare the ba-jeez-us out of me, he also wanted to make my husband think that I had lost my marbles by hiding out of view behind my knives.
Husband: “I don’t see anything, and now you woke up the baby.”
Me: “Go look behind the knives. And brace yourself.”
My husband peered over the knives and proceeded to scream, jump and itch his skin like a teen girl at a Justin Bieber concert. After a few expletives, my husband informed me that I was on my own. Apparently, wedding vows don’t cover cases that involve la cucaracha.
Just as we began arguing over who was going to remove la cucaracha from our home, the nasty little creature dove behind my stove.
Me: “Pull the stove out!”
Husband: “No, way.”
Me: “But we have to do something.”
Husband: “Ok, but I’m not moving the stove.”
Me: “Cockroaches are attracted to food. Let’s clean up!”
And by let’s I meant my husband. Because after all, the baby was awake and was hungry. And I had already done a lot of work to scare the little bastard behind the stove. Side note: I am now considering telling my husband that there are cockroaches behind the stove every night so that he will do the dishes without question.
La cucaracha hung low for that night. And in the morning, I imaged that he must have vanished into the drain that night. Until I was vacuuming and discovered that he decided to die, clearly of starvation, in my dining room. I decided to give my Shih Tzu, Chuy, the opportunity to prove his weight in kibble by disposing of la cucaracha’s carcass in a way that only dogs and cats can. But once again, the ungrateful little turd gave me the finger and refused to dispose of La Cucaracha.
Long story short, La Cucaracha returned to his mother land…the drain. After my husband, got home and flushed him of course.