Die Schabe. Emphasis on "Die".

Of course my work shoes were exactly where I had left them the other evening, smack dab in the middle of the archway separating the kitchen from the dining room. Makes it easy to find them, right?

So I slid my left foot out of my sandal and started to insert it into the loafer. It takes a little extra effort to wiggle into shoes as this is the foot that I have broken twice and the toes of which I have broken on three other completely separate occasions.

It's my unlucky foot.

I kinda felt something under my toes and figuring it was some small grass I may have picked up walking across our freshly mowed lawn when I came home on Monday, I pulled my foot back out and pushed the shoe onto its side.

And that's when I saw it.

Oh yeah. You see it coming, don't ya? Too bad I didn't.

Le cancrelat. La blatta. La cucaracha. A cockroach.

Not of gigantuan proportions I'll admit, but big enough that having a large human appendage abruptly shoved against it did virtually no real damage.



Although I think that had I actually crushed a roach with my bare foot, it truly might have caused me to go over the brink of hysteria on which edge I was already perched.

I haven't seen a roach since my last near brush with a fate worse than death which occurred several weeks ago.

And this time I actually touched it.