What are the odds?

The lawn is in desperate need of mowing. In fact, when we walk to the car in the side yard, it's like walking through the jungle and we are in dire need of a machete. So, as the day starts off with blue skies, I wait until the decent hour of 8am on a Saturday morning to haul out the mower and give the grass a trim.

Our shed is covered by a tarp because last year a huge limb of the pecan tree fell on top and damaged it. Since I have neither the skill, inclination or funds to fool with a metal roof at this time, we just covered it and went about our business. I have to lift the tarp, unlock the shed door and move some fallen boards before I can squeeze the mower out.

I start it up and as I make a few laps of the yard my bra starts to irritate me. Funny though, I put on a old soft cotton bra that would stand up to the sweat from exertion and subsequent heavy laundering. I rub my back at the spot and my mind wanders.... I'm allergic to bee/wasp stings and my back is kinda prickly. Did something sting me? I'm still breathing so perhaps something just scratched my back as I moved around the yard.

I finish the large section and move to small strip of grass. My back is prickly on the other side now and I really wand to rub up against a tree to scratch it but I also want to get this over with. Maybe in time to see the reveal of the episode of "Sell This House" that I love to watch on Saturday mornings and am currently missing.

I quickly move to the driveway and mow through the tall grass. The mower kills a couple of times because it's so thick so I have to go slower. Ah well, maybe I'll make it in time for the next half hour episode's reveal. I hop into the truck to pull it down the drive as I've not mowed around it in months. As I do, my bra strap really starts to prickle. Damn. Maybe I forgot to wash this bra after the last time I worked in the garden. "Yuck," I'm thinking.

Yuck is right. How yucky though I didn't know at the time.

AND THAT'S WHEN IT HAPPENS.

I pull open the top of my shirt to look at my bra strap and INSIDE OF MY SHIRT IS A BUG THAT RESEMBLES A ROACH. BUT PRICKLIER.

It looked similar to the one in this google image.

Only 10x larger.

I damn near wrecked the truck.

A ROACHBUG IS INSIDE OF MY CLOTHES. A ROACHBUG IS TOUCHING ME.

A ROACHBUG HAS BEEN CRAWLING AROUND MY BODY FOR THE LAST 20 MINUTES.

I've seen these bugs before and usually attempt to cut them in pieces with any long handled, sharp, gardening implements I have at hand. And here was the sonofabitch in my shirt.

Somehow, I manage to put the truck into park and jump out and slam the door. At least I know where the bug is. I'm almost hysterical but remind myself that real roaches aren't prickly. I'm ready to call it a day RIGHT NOW, but I really really need to mow the grass. So, I can only hope that I remember to get ~K~ to find the bug before I need to drive the truck again. Oh, but I have to back the truck up to its original spot after I finish the drive. SHIT. I open the door, look around, and no sign of it. I quickly do what I have to do and since this was the final bit of mowing for the day, I put the lawn mower back into the shed and head inside for a shower.

I go inside the house. I'm sweaty but all goosepimply and full of anxiety from this close call with a ROACHBUG. I tell my mom the story and we talk of getting the girl to find the bug later on today. So I then head to a the shower to wash all traces of the bug and morning from my skin. I mean really. A ROACHBUG TOUCHED ME.

IT CRAWLED ON ME. IT TOUCHED MY SKIN.

I turn on the shower and then remove and drop my sweaty clothes on the floor. I then look in the mirror to pull the elastic out of my ponytail and that's when I SEE IT.

THE ROACHBUG IS IN MY HAIR.

Even though I didn't notice it, it must have crawled back onto me when I moved the truck. I scream for my mother to come help me get this bug off of my body. I'm bending over and letting my hair hang so if the insect does fall out, it will fall away from me.

My mother says she doesn't know what she's looking for. I tell her to look for a roach about an inch long. And as I shake my head, and do the naked-bent-over-at-the-waist version of the "roach dance", the roachbug falls to the floor and tries to squirm onto its feet. Probably to take a second, or is it a third now, attempt to assassinate me. My mother removes the insect with a wad of toilet paper as I jump into the shower to avoid being in close proximity to the bug. She leaves the room, bug in hand, to throw it away FAR FAR AWAY FROM ME.

SHEESH.

I stand under the warm water trying to wash away the anxiety of not one but two ROACHBUG incidents. If you know me, you would be aware of how just having a roach in the same room affects me, much less having one be close or even, gawd forbid, touch me.

I'm beginning to feel relaxed, having scrubbed my skin where the ROACHBUG crawled over it. I turn off the water, grab my towel and start to lower my foot to the floor of the bathroom WHEN I SEE. ANOTHER. ROACHBUG.

ANOTHER ROACHBUG.

How many of these damned things are there??????

I'm pretty sure this one crawled out of my clothes. And now I'm pretty sure that the one in my hair was NOT the same one from my bra strap (and I'm pretty sure that one is still in the truck awaiting my return.) SO THAT MAKES THREE ROACHBUG INCIDENTS IN ONE DAY.

THREE ROACHBUGS.

All before 8:30 am.

I need a valium.

So, how was YOUR morning?