Oh please no

Sprightly, you dance your little limbs across the carpet, headed for the next sheltered area under the laundry. Wobbly on the fibers, you seem to rattle as you run.

"Cockroach! I get it." said David.

My first reaction was to stare. I couldn't think of what to do next, though I knew it had to get far from me. He crushed it with his boot and left to go back to his business at the front desk. And there it sat. Crushed, but still visibly a cockroach. I reached out quickly with my shoe and smeared it across the carpet, sweeping the remains under the counter.

And then it happened: my skin started to crawl. I can feel it on the bottom of my shoe. There's a spot now that feels different than the rest of my foot. I keep turning to look at the wet spot its death left and wondering if there are more coming.

I've gotten better about cockroaches. I'm not afraid of bugs, in fact, I used to collect beetles, but I hate, HATE cockroaches. In an LSD fueled haze one time I saw giant, hissing Madagascar cockroaches crawling all over each other in the corner of a room. I was so petrified that I couldn't move: I just wanted to scream and hide, which I did - in the opposite corner of the room - until I could get enough courage to run.

Life here will never be the same. Now I know they're out there, waiting. One could come out from under the counter at any time. One could be living somewhere in the store and jump out at me. I need to find some spray....