So. Three in the morning. Esse and I, after enjoying a Jeeves & Wooster marathon, are getting ready to sleep. Then we see it. Roach number four. Not a particularly large roach, I should add. But the circumstances may be the most horrifying yet.
You see, dear readers, the roach got in when Esse innocently opened a window hoping for a cool breeze. The roach molested my friend, crawling along her leg. She chose not to mention the incident so that I would not shriek like a prison bitch. She hoped she was merely hallucinating, that the feeling on her leg was a sign of oncoming insanity. We were not so lucky.
I only screamed once. I also vomited once, upon seeing roach guts on my floor, thus ruining my moment of Rambo-like bravery. I sprayed enough Raid through the apartment to ensure that neither I nor my friend will ever reproduce, covered it with the Roach Cup, then ran into the bathroom so that Esse could transport the creature's earthly remains to the garbage receptacle outside my humble, ROACH FUCKING INFESTED abode.
People are not themselves at 3 AM. I was braver than usual, if only by necessity. Esse was more frightened than I expected. And the poor roach was probably terrified. The whole thing, in fact, could have been physical comedy, with one girl retching in the bathroom and the other hopping around at a safe distance.
Esse, to her immense credit, did all the dirty work. She even cleaned up the guts on my once-pristine floor. But was she rewarded for her valiant efforts? No. Instead, while disposing of the corpse outside, a drunk/stoned/stupid young man bluntly asked her for sex. Esse, with her usual grace, replied simply, "No." The gentleman went on his stoned/drunk/stupid way without a companion.
This is, unfortunately, all true. Esse is currently hiding in the kitchen drinking tea and trying to remember how to play Solitaire. I am sitting on my bed, keeping an eye on where I last saw the dread beast, with my shoes on and my adrenaline way too high.
My name is ElleVee, and this is life in New York City.
- LV
You see, dear readers, the roach got in when Esse innocently opened a window hoping for a cool breeze. The roach molested my friend, crawling along her leg. She chose not to mention the incident so that I would not shriek like a prison bitch. She hoped she was merely hallucinating, that the feeling on her leg was a sign of oncoming insanity. We were not so lucky.
I only screamed once. I also vomited once, upon seeing roach guts on my floor, thus ruining my moment of Rambo-like bravery. I sprayed enough Raid through the apartment to ensure that neither I nor my friend will ever reproduce, covered it with the Roach Cup, then ran into the bathroom so that Esse could transport the creature's earthly remains to the garbage receptacle outside my humble, ROACH FUCKING INFESTED abode.
People are not themselves at 3 AM. I was braver than usual, if only by necessity. Esse was more frightened than I expected. And the poor roach was probably terrified. The whole thing, in fact, could have been physical comedy, with one girl retching in the bathroom and the other hopping around at a safe distance.
Esse, to her immense credit, did all the dirty work. She even cleaned up the guts on my once-pristine floor. But was she rewarded for her valiant efforts? No. Instead, while disposing of the corpse outside, a drunk/stoned/stupid young man bluntly asked her for sex. Esse, with her usual grace, replied simply, "No." The gentleman went on his stoned/drunk/stupid way without a companion.
This is, unfortunately, all true. Esse is currently hiding in the kitchen drinking tea and trying to remember how to play Solitaire. I am sitting on my bed, keeping an eye on where I last saw the dread beast, with my shoes on and my adrenaline way too high.
My name is ElleVee, and this is life in New York City.
- LV
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