We Interrupt This Bloggy Break For A Bit Of Real Estate News

I think I want to sell my house. Like for a dollar.

Let me tell you why.

Last night, I was up WAY too late (thank you, prescription decongestant, for keeping me awake until 2:14 even though the doctor said you wouldn't) and decided to iron Spencer's shirt for work today. I walked into my dining room where the ironing board is set up (hush, don't judge me - yes, I keep the ironing board set up most of the time) and turned on the light.

There was a massive, people-eating, disgusting, HUGE, roach on my wall.

Sidenote: roaches in Alabama are common. We have a lot of trees in my back yard and pay a pest control company religiously to spray for them so they stay out of the house. Occasionally one gets in but usually meets a quick demise thanks to said pest control company. This one, however, was alive and kicking. Y'all, he was so big that I could hear him run. **Shudder.**

Anyhoo.

I did what any self-respecting girl would do, which was call my husband in to get it. He came in wielding a flip flop and started banging and swatting the quick little fella, who promptly ran under the china cabinet.

Dang.

So we (and by "we" I mean "Spencer" - I was on a chair) pulled out the big guns - which was the ant & roach spray - and started spraying everything in sight. We were both coughing and hacking from breathing roach spray fumes when we saw a little wiggle down near the bottom of the china cabinet. So Spencer starts wailing on the wiggle with the flip flop, flash light, and roach spray can. He sprays so much roach spray on the wiggling thing that it's now swimming. Please remember, it's 2 AM and "we're" beating the floor so hard that I'm surprised the girls didn't wake up.

When "we're" sure the stupid bug has met it's maker, Spencer leans in for a closer look. The little "wiggle" wasn't the roach.

It was a scorpion.

And guess what? Roach spray doesn't kill a scorpion. It just ticks it off.

So here's the scenario. 2 AM, floor covered in roach spray, big brave husband in his underwear battling a roach and NOW a scorpion, chicken wife standing on a chair, roach's whereabouts unknown, TICKED OFF scorpion's whereabouts known, and the battle begins again.

Spencer decided that the flip flop wasn't the appropriate tool for scorpion killing, so he resorted to the bedroom slipper tool and soon made mush of the scorpion. One down, one to go.

Roach with unknown whereabouts soon reared his ugly head and ran into the laundry room. I had a broom and the can of roach spray and was spraying and beating the roach. Meanwhile, Spencer is laughing and making fun of me for, and I quote, "hitting the roach like a sissy." Stupid roach ran under the washing machine, but was COVERED in roach spray, so we just knew he would take his final breath there.

BUT NO.

Just like a horror movie, the roach ran out from under the washing machine where Spencer hit it with the flashlight. And the little thing KEPT GOING. So Spencer reached for the bedroom slipper and ended the whole thing.

And you can understand why I didn't get much sleep last night. It's either me, or the roaches and scorpions.

And I don't go down without a fight.

Albeit, a fight while standing on a chair.